


The Strongest Bond

by limey_limey



Series: In Chains [2]
Category: Original Work, Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 48,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25736794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limey_limey/pseuds/limey_limey
Summary: Months after the events of The Binding Tie, Francesca and Hunter are slowly settling into life together. Things seem idyllic in the Prince mansion, unfortunately the outside world will soon intrude. Power is seductive and the power of master over slave is not something the public are willing to abandon, not even for a super-star.
Relationships: Gabrielle/Xena
Series: In Chains [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1866925
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You should read 'The Binding Tie' before this.  
> Again this is an Uber in the old sense and being reposted.

Soft whimpers emanated from the restless figure in the centre of the large, rumpled bed. The thrashing and moaning had become increasingly frantic over the last hour. It had been this restlessness, coupled with the soft, but insistent sounds, which had awoken the dazed figure that now lay crumpled on the floor. The dark of the night reigned over the room as the figure on the floor slowly came back to her senses.

Francesca ran a shaky hand over her face, reaching up to tentatively inspect her scalp. Feeling no blood and only a small bump she began to ease herself back to her feet. Straightening the hem of her silk negligee she stared bemusedly at the bed. Waiting for the last of the dizziness to pass, and her eyes to adjust to the gloom, she listened to the pleading, desolate sounds that filled the room. Each gasped noise made her heart clench in her chest. Cautiously, she moved back to the bed.

"I just don't learn, do I?" The wistful sound of her voice filled the room as she sat on the edge of the mattress. Close to the restless sleeper, but not touching. "It's just that I hear you crying… Hell, it's like I can feel the same pain you feel in your dreams. I just forget and reach out for you." The sleeper seemed to relax as she spoke, the thrashing becoming less wild, the whimpers softer. "Then I end up on the floor. Guess it's true what they say about never catching a tiger by the tail… eh?" The sleeping blonde was still and silent now, chest rising and falling in even breaths, soothed by the silken voice of the seated woman, face set in quiet repose.

With Hunter now in a deep, healing sleep, Francesca placed a kiss on the still furrowed brow and quietly left the room. Being careful to pull the door closed behind her, the heiress made her way across the landing towards her son's bedroom. It was still the early hours of the morning, the house quiet around her. Pushing Terry's door open a crack, she saw her son was sound asleep, clutching his favourite football. Satisfied that he had not been affected by the commotion in the master bedroom she continued on to the room shared by her twin daughters.

Nearing the twin's open door Francesca's face split into an affectionate smile as she saw the weak light of their, almost, identical nightlights edging feebly into the hall. Pink and green light mixed on the carpet, making a strange sickly shade. As she entered the room, she came to Rochelle's bed first, tugging the sheets back into place around the lightly snoring child. The small, squeaking grunts coming from the little girl were incongruous when one looked at her. Bathed in the pink hue of her fairy-shaped light- blankets and pyjamas the same shade- she looked like an angel in need of decongestant. In a vice-like grip she held the latest Barbie. The doll's hair was tousled by each noisy exhalation.

Turning to her youngest daughter's bed, the tall brunette was startled to see wide brown eyes gazing back at her. Illuminated by the green glow of her own fairy, Becca's eyes seemed to take on its appearance, flashing between brown and green as she fidgeted nervously. As her mother approached, the small girl scooted up to the head of the bed and sat, cross-legged, still not making a sound.

"Becca, honey, why are you still awake?" Francesca spoke in low tones so as not to wake the other child who slept on, oblivious.

"I heard a crash, Mama," the child's lip jutted out sorrowfully, eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Sweetheart, it's OK." Long arms reached for the girl and drew her into a soft embrace. "Hunter was having a bad dream and I forgot the cardinal rule, again." Even the child could pick up the tone of self-deprecation. "Do you remember the rule, Becca?"

"Never surprise Hunter!" The child's tears were forgotten as she beamed with pride. Hunter was her favourite person; of course she knew the rule.

"Good girl. Hey, how about you come downstairs with me and we'll have some warm milk and you can tell me what's really bothering you. Then maybe you can go back to sleep." A well-manicured finger tapped a button nose as very alert, brown eyes crossed comically to study it.

The smaller brunette jumped out of bed and charged out of the room. Francesca shook her head at her daughter's antics. Before she could chastise her, she was gone. The heiress followed at a more sedate pace, checking once more on her other daughter before she left. She ducked into her son's room on her way to the stairs. Kissing his cheek, she could hear Becca trotting down the stairs. Glimpsing the alarm clock beside her son's bed, she was shocked to see that it was 3.15! She definitely needed to get Becca back to bed, not to mention herself.

Following her daughter's path she found the pyjama clad seven year old waiting patiently at the kitchen table. The part-time singer, full time mother, began the now familiar task of preparing warm milk with honey. A sure fire way to knock all of her children, and one small gladiator, out like a light.

Sticky! Why was everything so sticky? Eyes strained to open, to no avail, seemingly welded closed. Body quavering, a tentative hand reached for her cheek, finding it tacky to the touch. Disorientation coursed through her body; she could still feel the soft familiarity of the mattress beneath her yet the room was unnaturally still, the smell… off somehow.

Breath rasped loudly in and out of her lungs, fracturing the silence into tiny shards of disquiet. The more panicked she became, the shallower each breath. Soon lungs burned, fit to burst. Her body was becoming starved of oxygen, mind growing cloudy as suffocation set in. Desperately trying to move, to escape the suddenly cloying confines of the mattress, the warrior found herself held in place by invisible forces. Only her arms seemed free of constraint.

Flailing arms lashed out, trying to break the hold that pinned her down, only to encounter nothing but air. A scream of frustration bubbled from her lips as her arms collapsed bonelessly to the yielding surface. Her arms stilled as her mind seemed to kick into overdrive.

Arms, which suddenly didn't seem so useless, slid across the surface of the bed. Cautious in their journey, they followed a well-worn path to the side. Mind whirring with apprehension she sought for the person who should be lying beside her. The person whose breathing was noticeable by its absence. Trembling fingers soon encountered warmth.

The bed felt strangely damp beneath her fingers. The warm liquid coating her fingers was rapidly cooling. Her heart spasmed in her chest, seeming to stop as her fingers journeyed onwards. She knew what her touch would encounter, but could not help the feint glimmer of hope that kept her moving forwards.

Sticky fingers, bound with blood, reached their gory destination. Without eyes to see, hands roamed over a face and torso raw from a beating. The skin, muscle and bone, once smooth, now bore the texture of ground meat. As her finger sunk into the soft tissue that once may have been an eye, her body began to quake uncontrollably.

Mind spinning, she reached a shocking conclusion. The coating of blood on her hands, made obvious to her by its stench, was her lover's. She was responsible for the mutilated corpse beside her! Heedless of pain, the gladiator tore at her face with her hands, nails digging like claws into vulnerable eyelids. With a final tear her eyes flew open...

Hunter bolted up in bed, a scream dying on her lips as she was savagely ripped from the nightmare's cloying embrace. Her body was drenched with sweat, hair plastered to her forehead and neck. Her breathing and heart rate slowly decelerated as she sucked in huge lungfuls of air. Resolutely, she tried to push the hideousness of the dream from her mind.

Green eyes scanned the room, landing on the familiar objects, skipping from one to the other. She was touching base, seeking terra firma after the shifting sands that she had clawed to break free from. Unknowingly she mirrored the gesture performed by Francesca not long before, running her hand down her face and through her hair. She had to be certain that it had all been an illusion. Even though no bludgeoned body lay beside her she still needed reassurance.

Tossing the bed covers roughly aside, she almost flew from the bed. She rushed across the densely carpeted floor, barely feeling her feet touch the soft material. Her goal was clear, only one thought in her mind. The smooth white door seemed to glow in the dim moonlight, suffusing the room.

Reaching the bathroom she fell through the door. In one, swift, movement she pulled the door tightly shut and pulled the chord for light. The room was filled by the sudden burst of light. It bounced off white tiles and skittered across the ivory bath. Blinded, yet feeling oddly detached rather than afraid, the small woman simply waited for her eyes to adjust. The light itself comforted the woman, wrapping around her and through her, offering sanctuary.

Moving with the surety of one trained to use their body; she proceeded to the vanity, even as her eyes cleared. She rested her hands on the smooth marble of the counter top and focused her still blurry eyes on the illuminated mirror ahead of her. Almost achingly slowly, her image seemed to solidify in the glass. As her features resolved themselves she studied them, one by one.

Blonde hair, so pale it was almost white, crowned a round, cherubic face. She might have been called angelic, but time and pain had ground that away. Scarring was visible on cheek and brow- some small and feint, others a badge of her training. Even without these, her oft-furrowed brow and hollow eyes revealed her troubled soul.

Hunter fingered the blonde strands with a sense of wonder. She had never thought to see this colour adorning her head again. For so many years her hair and eyes had been a uniform shade of electric blue; unnatural and intimidating. Her new, green eyes were as false as the others had been and yet, even knowing this, the olive green held a spark of life that the others never had. Maybe it was just the presence of pupils that contracted and expanded, giving life where once she had appeared to be an automaton, but it did change her whole countenance.

Blinking owlishly at her reflection, her hands, seemingly of their own accord, turned on the cold water faucet. Not waiting for the basin to fill, she thrust her head into the icy-cold stream. It was like a stiletto slicing through her brain. Cutting through the folly of introspection. Hacking away at the clouds that covered her thoughts. Flinging her head back, she shook like a dog, sending a fine spray of water from out from the short strands. Turning off the water she dashed the water from her face and slicked back her damp hair.

Bags under her eyes attested to countless nights reliving the same dream. She couldn't go on like this. For years she had existed on only an hour's sleep, the wonders of genetic enhancement. Even then, with the constant dull ache of pain that suffused every cell of her body, she felt more rested than this. It was almost as though the more she slept the more exhausted she became.

Restless thoughts suddenly ground to a stop, so fast that sparks almost showered. Everything stopped. Nothing mattered. One thought filled her mind…

Where was Francesca?

Unwilling to let panic overtake her, she turned to the door. Sucking in a hissing breath she went in search of her lover.

The small child lay cosily ensconced in her mother's lap at the kitchen table. Two cups of steaming milk stood on the table; one half drained the other barely touched. Becca nestled her head into the junction where her mother's neck met her shoulder. She could smell the comforting scent of her shampoo. The pair had been sitting in companionable silence; both comforted by the other's presence, until now.

"Mama?" Francesca felt the soft whisper against her neck.

"Yes baby-girl?" A soft kiss was planted on the child's crown.

"When I heard the crash in your room… It was like when daddy got really mad at you." Her voice had grown softer and softer, almost tapering off completely.

"Oh, Becca." Francesca pulled the little girl from her shoulder so that she could look her in the eye. "Becca, your father and I… it was difficult. He'd get upset and throw things. It was never anything to worry about." She tried to sound sincere, she had been so careful to hide the marks Doug often left on her body and mind, just not careful enough if the sceptical look in her daughter's eyes was any clue. She understood more than a child should.

"Does Hunter throw things?" It seemed to almost physically hurt the child to force the words out.

"Becca, Hunter has nothing in common with your father." She paused, contemplating that for a moment, "Well maybe the fact that she loves you three but that's all. She never gets frustrated, or throws things, she's too well trained." Neither mother nor child saw the arrival of the dark silhouette in the doorway. "Hunter was having a bad dream. I tried to wake her up and forgot about…"

"The cardiboard rule!"

""Cardinal, darling."

"Yeah, that! You told me that upstairs Mama!" The small face was scrunched in to a scowl, she was clearly perplexed.

"I didn't think that you believed me," a stray strand of hair was tucked behind her ear. "I tried to shake her awake and she pushed me away. I fell into the dresser, my head hurts a little, but Hunter was still asleep. We all just need to be careful for now." The figure in the doorway flinched at the words.

Hunter felt her palms start to sweat. She hated to hear Francesca talk about her in this way. The words she said were true and caring, but to know that, at least on some level, the other woman feared her almost broke her heart. She had to do something. She couldn't stay hidden in the shadows, cowering from an encounter with the heiress.

On silent feet she moved away from the door, towards the stairs. She went up swiftly, only to come back down with the same heavy footfall as the rest of the house. She struggled to maintain the noise, trained as she was to be a silent and ghostly shadow. As she drew closer to the door she could hear the voices once again spilling out into the hall.

"Can you hear that? I wonder who it is." The former slave could hear the childish giggles and knew that the singer was pulling faces. "Sounds like an elephant or maybe a heard of buffalo!" Becca's laughs echoed through the kitchen. Through the doorway the blonde could see mother and child engaged in a tickle war. Loath to interrupt them, she cleared her throat.

Two dark heads snapped towards the sound and she suddenly felt trapped in their twin gazes. Knowing that both mother and child were feeling anxious about her, she tried to seem carefree.

"Hey, if it isn't my two favourite girls! I wondered who was making all that racket." Her tone was light but her pose was that of a contrite child. Francesca had an inkling that her earlier conversation had been overheard by one sneaky bodyguard.

"Your two favourite girls?" Becca could not be afraid in the presence of her second favourite person. As she spoke the warrior had taken a seat and she now climbed onto her lap.

"Ok, so I have five favourite girls, you two are just at the tippy-top so you better shhhh. Don't tell anyone!" With a finger pressed to pursed lips and eyes crossed, the blonde looked like some sort of demented guppy. The little girl was laughing hysterically.

"I think it's time that somebody went to bed." A dark eyebrow raised as a blue eye fixed on the child.

"But Mama! I'm not tired!" Even as she said the words her eyes began to droop closed. Her voice had taken on a whiney edge that only sleepy children can manage.

Knowing that the excitement of giggling had worn off during the brief lull in conversation, Hunter began to growl low in her throat. It was almost a purr and all of the children found it quite soothing. The incongruity of a sound, first made to intimidate, which now put infants to sleep made the warrior wrap her arms more tightly around Becca and smiled bemusedly over her head. Francesca saw the smile and returned it full force.

Feeling Becca losing the battle with sleep, Hunter rose, carefully balancing the precious cargo in her arms. Meeting the brunette's eye she mouthed, 'I'll take her up'.

"Meet me in the den!" It was whispered seductively into her ear, followed by a kiss on the cheek that made the blonde blush as she walked away.

Candlelight flickered throughout the room, caressing everything it touched with amber fingers. It licked against the statuesque brunette's face, casting high cheekbones into stark relief. She sat, legs pulled beneath her, on the overstuffed sofa, enveloped in its comforting embrace. She would have been a vision of serenity, if her eyes had not continuously flickered towards the open door.

Idle hands began to toy restlessly with the ends of her hair. She was nervous, waiting there like a teenager before a first date. Sometimes she felt like she knew Rhani inside out but Hunter hardly at all. Her lover was a combination of two very different people and Rhani was only just reappearing. It was hard not to feel apprehension; she had known this conversation was coming but not sure how she would deal with it.

In the hallway, Hunter was feeling just as unsettled. She had lingered putting the child to bed. She had tucked her in and checked on the other two as she attempted to steel herself for what was to come. She knew what she had to say, knew that it was a necessity, but could not stop the worry that she would hurt Francesca with her words.

With a deep sigh, she steeled herself. Walking through the door, her mouth went dry as she saw Francesca, gilt in bronze by the firelight. The other woman looked like a goddess being worshiped by the flames. Her resolve was almost shattered, but she managed to pull the pieces back together as she walked around the couch to take a seat beside the vision. She was careful not to touch her.

Francesca had heard the changes in her lover's breathing as she entered the room, had sensed every pause and every twitch. Her mind was whirling as she tried to comprehend why the other woman was acting so strangely. She followed her with her eyes as the compact, muscular body moved around the seat. This was unusual in itself, Hunter always jumped over the back of the sofa, never walked around.

Her eyes began to narrow as she watched the smaller woman sit. There was an air of defeat around her as she slumped forward. She sat with her legs apart, back bowed. Her elbows rested on her knees with her hands hanging limply between them, her eyes were fixed on the floor. Her head was bowed so far that her short hair managed to obscure her eyes from the enquiring gaze of her partner. Francesca felt another piece of her heart claimed by the other woman as she reached out a manicured hand and ran it down the broad back.

There was silence in the room for many long minutes. The crackling of the fire even seemed muted by the tension filling the room. Gradually the older woman turned her head, blonde hair still falling into her eyes. She locked gaze with the brunette and finally decided to bite the bullet.

"Chess…"

"Hunter, Rhani, let me. I know that things aren't working out as we had hoped. This is all so new to both of us. We have to expect some teething trouble." Her voice was strong and reassuring, even though she was shaking on the inside.

"Chess I know what I did to you tonight." She carried on swiftly before she could be interrupted. "I know that I was asleep, I heard what you said to Becca. Accidents happen, I know that, but I could really hurt you. Hell, I could even kill you without waking up." Callused hands rubbed at her face. "I know I have these nightmares every night and it can't go on!"

Francesca felt her heart stop dead in her chest. What was Rhani saying? Panic was starting to set in, was she planning to leave? Voice quivering she forced out, "What do you mean?"

"I love you, I love sleeping with you, but I can't do it anymore!" Seeing the taller woman's eyes widen in shock and realising what she must be thinking Hunter grabbed her hands. "Chess, I'm not going to leave you or go to another room. Let me explain."

Francesca let herself relax for the first time since the other woman came into the room. With their hands still entwined she pulled Hunter closer and manoeuvred her own body until they were facing each other, knees and hands touching. Impulsively Francesca darted forwards and planted a quick but tender kiss on startled lips. Hunters look held a question, which the heiress answered with a smile that seemed to say thank you.

"When I came back, after Jordan, we needed to reconnect. We wanted to be with each other as much as we could. It helped me get better- I don't doubt that. Truthfully, I feel great during the day. It's at night that I am having problems, as you know." She rubbed her eyes self-consciously. "I think I know why and you're not going to like the solution."

"Rhani, I only want you to feel better."

"I know. When I came here, and for several years now, I've only required one hour of sleep each night. You knew that when you took me on as your guard, it was why I was picked. I never really thought about the enhancement before. I assumed that as it was intended for the corporate market, I could sleep longer if I wanted to. I thought that the defect that kept it off the market was the pain. Guess I was wrong, huh?" She looked at her partner and saw comprehension dawning. "When I was following orders I never had nightmares and rarely dreamt. When I came back you wanted me to sleep with you, all night. I've felt more tired in the last three weeks than I ever have. I don't think this is working."

Francesca almost jumped for joy at this revelation. She had worried that, perhaps, it was being together that was reminding Rhani of her ordeal. To know that it was a simple matter of biology and genetics gave her renewed hope. They could work through this as they had worked through everything else. Maybe they could reverse the technology as they had with her vocal inhibitor and her eyes.

Hunter could see the wheels turning in her head and moved quickly to bring them to a halt. "Chess, I know what you're thinking and I don't want to change this part of myself. I don't even think it could be changed. I like being able to guard you this well. I don't want to go through anymore scientific and frankly experimental procedures."

The brunette threw her arms around the gladiator and pulled her close. "Whatever you want is what we'll do." It was supposed to be a whisper, which quickly turned into a yawn.

"I may have had my quota of sleep, but you still need some more!" The stronger woman moved on the couch until her back rested against an arm. She pulled the other woman towards her and wrapped her in her arms. Francesca burrowed into the other woman's chest and felt safe and protected. Her eyes forced themselves shut as a strong hand stroked through her hair.

"Go to sleep Chess. I'll watch over you."


	2. Chapter 2

"Now we go to Kim Sykes in the capital. Kim, what led to today's rioting?" The manikin perfect anchorman passed over to his colleague.

The camera cuts to a woman, dressed in a well tailored suit and coiffed to within an inch of her life. She stands in front of a scene of decimation. The street behind her is strewn with garbage and broken glass. Store windows are smashed, once carefully planted trees uprooted and benches thrown aside.

"Well Ken, as you can see we have another example of a peaceful demonstration being hijacked by extremists. Today, across the country, SOS members were participating in marches to show their report for Proposition 644."

Back in the studio, "For those viewers who may not be familiar with this, could you just give us some details on Prop. 644?"

Back to Kim, "644 contains legislation which would tighten slavery laws. It would make it illegal for private owners to set slaves free without first going to court for authorisation.

This has become a necessity due to the proliferation of slave markets selling off old warriors. These slaves are then taken on by private owners. This will not be affected; however often these owners begin to think of their slaves as well behaved pets. They then decide to set their slaves free. Clearly, this is a dangerous situation. These slaves are violent and unpredictable and must be carefully controlled.

Therefore Proposition 644 means that all slaves will have to be monitored for a period before they are even eligible for release by the courts. Some would say that this is overkill, especially for domestic slaves. The Slavery Organisation Supporters, or SOS, feel that this is a first step in the journey towards to the repeal of emancipation laws. They feel that all slaves are a danger as they will, quite naturally feel animosity towards those who once held them in servitude."

The camera moves quickly back to Ken who is in the process of scratching himself in a less than TV friendly place. Only the rapid gesturing of his producers alerted him to the camera, firmly directed at him. Red faced and trying to pull the shreds of his dignity together a few grunted vowel sounds escaped before he could pull his wits together.

"Ugh, thank you Kim. Now we know that the SOS were marching to show their support and as always they take part purely as an act of support. How did this peaceful act once again degenerate into running battles?" Relief was clearly written over his face as the camera moved back to the roving reporter.

"Once again the freedom campaigners were behind the violence. These groups, fixated on the principle that all humans should be equal, never pass up an opportunity to cause trouble at times like these. Proposition 644 has simply become a rallying cry for their beliefs.

It should be made clear that the peaceful branch of this fight, the EFA, do not publicly condone these actions. It is believed, however, that they do know the identities of the militant leaders. Only time will tell who will prevail in this campaign for slave rights."

Thwack! A large hand slammed down onto the surface of the conference table, drowning the final words of the news report. With all eyes focused on their leader, nobody noticed the monitor blink off into darkness. Sitting at the head of the table, he sized up his minions as he contemplated his next words. His fist had got their attention, now he needed to make his words plain.

"That, ladies and gentlemen, is what we are looking for! That is the type of publicity that 644 needs; that my campaign needs! We need to do everything that we can in order to ride the wave of this sort of publicity."

"Mr Dettore, are you completely sure about this stance? This could do your campaign more harm than good." Mousy and middle-aged, the woman wished she could take the words back as soon as they left her mouth.

"Ms…" Fingers were snapped in the direction of a reedy, slightly hunched young man.

"Schreiber, sir."

"Thank you Cliff. Ms Schreiber, this is what my campaign is based on. I believe, whole heartedly, that slaves should remain that way until they die. They are no better than animals and if I get my way they will continue to live like them!"

"But, sir, you can't go public with this; it'll destroy you in the face of the voters."

"Do I look like a complete moron, Mr Mortimer? Have I never taken part in politics before? I am well aware of the boundaries. That is why I am supporting the SOS. I show my support but don't have to go public. If any of you are going to have an issue with our stance, I would suggest that you leave my employ now and keep the security agreement you signed very much to heart!" A cool green eye scanned over the faces in the room, noticing mousy-Ms Schreiber flinch and cast her gaze down to her lap. Detorre gestured towards his right hand man.

"Right, people, we have a lot of other issues that we need to look at in order to get Mr Detorre into the public eye. What have we come up with so far?" A tall man in a small suit shuffled towards the monitor which had previously shown the news report.

Cliff moved to dim the lights as the presentation began. The young man sent a furtive and beady eyed glance towards his boss, receiving a nod in return. As the presentation began, he eased out of the conference room, unnoticed by all but Bradley Detorre.

Broad shoulders were squared as yet another question on the economy was fielded with aplomb. Confidence oozed from him, infusing the listeners and further expanding the ranks of his supporters. His suave good looks, confident manner and winning smile made him a hit with his target demographic, even before he opened his mouth. Luckily, he was as adept at political debate as any other politician and played the crowd well. Today he was on a nationwide talk show in order to drum up support.

As yet another inane question was directed his way by a member of the audience, Bradley internally rolled his eyes. People were so wrapped up in the mundane, the petty, that they barely gave a thought to the most important issues of national security, public safety and the degradation of society. Money, health and pleasure were all that these people seemed to have on their mind. Question after question had made this abundantly clear and further firmed his resolve to become a senator and start some changes. Changes that would make people more aware of the dangers that they faced externally and, more importantly, internally. Hell, he was headed to the Whitehouse, and then they would have to care.

He turned his full attention and 1000watt smile towards his current questioner. "That is a really excellent point and one which I am sure you've heard a hundred other politicians answer. Let me tell you that you will not hear any platitudes or old clichés here. I am totally committed…"

Cliff Walsh ran a thin, bony hand through his straw-like hair as he watched his leader from behind a monitor. He could almost mouth the words along with Dettore, as he answered each question; it was a well practiced script which had been written by both men. It wasn't that Cliff was the brain and Bradley the brawn, their relationship was much more complicated than that. They were both ambitious, intelligent men whose individual minds complimented each others well. Bradley was the elder, more charismatic and hungrier of the two; Cliff was more than willing to let him ride the wave to power. He would ride in the other mans wake and retain his position as his right hand.

Straightening his tie, the thin man turned towards the stage in time to see the politician tying up the interview. With a final flourish Dettore raised his arms wide in his signature farewell. It was supposed to make the audience feel that they are being embraced by the bog man and further strengthen his bond with them. The effect it had on a crowd was amazing and almost seemed to mesmerise the audience. One thing was for sure, Cliff could never hold an audience in his palm like this.

He continued to watch his friend approach until a large hand landed heavily on his shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie. It was performed as much for the benefit of the still watching studio audience as it was for his assistant. Having this close relationship made him seem like much more a man of the people and he cultivated that as much as possible. It helped that he honestly liked the man who was slowly guiding them out of the studio.

Neither man spoke as they quickly approached the waiting limo. They walked in perfect sync yet not quite shoulder-to-shoulder. For appearances sake the smaller man walked slightly behind and to the right of his friend. It should have irked him, would have made other men rankle that they did as much work and were treated like this but to Cliff; this was a small price to pay. Everything changed once the limo door slammed closed.

"Excellent stuff Brad, they were really lapping it up!" A hearty punch in the shoulder punctuated his statement.

"They should have Cliff, it was your ideas. I just wish people were a little more interested in my favourite issues. I mean, you'd have thought that after all the marches and rioting people would be taking an interest!" The frustration was evident his face.

"Look, don't worry about it now, you're ahead in all of the research! If we win, you can beat this with a big stick until the cows come home. Concentrate on the goal, not how we get there!" The bigger man slumped into the buttery leather of the seats.

"This is really getting to you, isn't it?" Even as the question was asked a long finger pushed the button for the privacy screen. Soon they were separated from the driver and able to talk freely. "There is one way we can make this the electorates priority."

Bradley sat up straight, his attention totally focused, eyes boring into his companion. "Tell me!"

"You might not like this but we could…"

"Raindrops keep fallings on my head... Hmmmm… Hmmm."

The lithe blond hummed to herself as she performed her regular morning exercises. She seemed to flow into each movement and pose, every movement seeming to be more part of a ballet than a fight. Encased in tight black shorts and sports-bra, her slight body gleamed with sweat turning her into a glazed porcelain figure given life. Even when she stilled for brief moments, she seemed to be in motion. It was not a nervous energy that suffused her, more a sense of danger and anticipation.

Flowing through her drills she was more than aware that green eyes were firmly planted on her. She almost felt his gaze travel over her, something between a caress and a slap. She was never sure how her master felt about her presence or even why he had purchased her. She thought it may have something to do with the nervous, twitchy little man that seemed to constantly shadow him. Some sort of power play that she could not, as yet, understand. She would find out, her cunning mind would not be stopped before it sorted the pieces of the puzzle. Continuing to sing her melody she whirled into an even more acrobatic routine, knowing that she would keep his focus for at least a little longer.

Bradley was at once transfixed and repulsed by the woman prancing, flipping and kicking before him. He was reluctant even to step closer into the room, preferring to stand in the no-mans land of the door less archway. He could not help but be impressed by her athletic prowess. The fact that a woman who looked so fragile, almost dainty, could deliver a killing blow to men larger than himself had fascinated him for more than a year now.

When Cliff had suggested that he buy a slave he was appalled. As much as he believed that slaves should remain in servitude until their deaths he did not want to own one. The very idea of being close to one of these animals made his skin crawl, he almost felt physically sick. Despite this he had let himself be persuaded by his most trusted advisor. It would make his stance on slavery more compelling if he himself kept a slave as a slave and not a pet. The warrior training before was testament to the fact that he had done just that.

To an outsider, simply catching a glimpse of events in the penthouse, it would seem that he was reneging on his own views. The room that the slave trained in was spacious and well appointed, every type of workout equipment adorned the walls and floor. What that same observer would not have seen was the fact that she slept in a small, secured cell in the adjoining room. Not one possession was her own and she was more than subject to his personal whims. She was supposed to be his guard but he seldom took her out into public. That was about to change.

The ball of energy suddenly drew up short, feet from her owner, as she sensed another approach. She stood so close to Detorre that he could smell her, could see every bead of sweat trickle down her face and between the valley of her breasts. Most men would have found the sight unbearably sexy, it just made him feel sick. He could see that she wanted to move closer, to take up a protective stance beside him, but reigned it in knowing that her actions would not be welcomed. It fascinated him that even after some very neglectful and honestly hurtful incidents within the walls of his home, this creature was still willing to perform her duties. She was like a well trained dog and it simply confirmed his views.

Cliff reached the doorway in time to see his friend looking at his property with total contempt and a little bemusement. They were about to take the first step towards a place that he knew Bradley would loath but the ends justified the means. Ever since they had bought Lana Point, the acclaimed Thorn, from the Huhn auction he had been planning this for Dettore's campaign. He had purchased this particular slave for the other man because of her unpredictable and extreme nature. So far she had been quite restrained, only going berserk twice in the time that she had been theirs.

Looking at her now, standing poised for action, his mind recalled the violence that she could unleash. The first time that she had beaten a man in Cliff's presence, the youth had not walked away and he never would. She had shattered his spine just for looking at her the wrong way. The damage had been done with such speed and lack of emotion that it had taken minutes for them to register what was happening. She had been severely disciplined but after years of similar behaviour they were not expecting much. The second time she did it they thought that they were ready. They could never have been ready to see her literally shred a German Shepherd that had tried to attack her. The volume of blood and the relish on her face had lingered with both men until this day.

Shaking himself out of his revelry he cleared his throat. "Thorn, your master and I need to give you your new instructions. You have, so far, performed every task that we set you with skill and obedience. Now we need you to take a more active role. Change and come to the office!"

As the woman spun, catlike, and padded towards her small living area the two men exchanged a glance. The smaller man oozed palpable confidence which he hoped would suffuse his larger companion. He placed a guiding hand on a broad shoulder and nudged him towards the office to await the coming of his property.

"I hope that you're right about this Cliff." Uncertainty laced through his voice.

"It'll be fine Bradley, remember what we are going to achieve! Nothing can get in the way of our goals!"


	3. Chapter 3

Batting away the hands fiddling with her shirt for the third time in as many minutes, Hunter tried to catch the other woman's eye. She was clearly agitated, quickly pulling her hands free to pull invisible lint off of the shorter woman's shoulder. The gladiator turned a despairing eye towards the 3 children standing at the foot of the stairs. She could see each of them trying to suppress giggles as they saw her suffering the same ritual that they had just gone through.

Terrance caught her eye and raised a thumb to his lips. Thumb liberally smeared in spit, he preceded to rub it against his cheek while giving the adult an evil wink. Hunter's eyes widened in horror as the realization of what he meant sank in. Oh, my God! This is ridiculous!

Just then Francesca pulled a handkerchief from her purse, time to stop this dead in its tracks. Hunter cleared her throat loudly and snatched the hanky out of her lovers hand with lightening speed. Startled blue eyes met green for the first time, widening as they registered the smirk on the shorter woman's face.

"Chess?"

"Yes?" Francesca felt as though she had fallen out of the loop completely. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed the children, all wearing very expectant expressions, clearly they knew what was coming.

"You do know you're not my mommy, right?" Green eyes sparkled with mischief.

Francesca flushed crimson as she realized what she had been about to do. She had been getting the children ready for their party and naturally started to tidy her lover as well. Her blush deepened as she looked at the white lace gripped in strong hands, she had never thought she would do that to her children, let alone a grown adult! She started to shake her head, inky tresses falling into her face as they began to chuckle.

Hunter was glad to see the other woman seeing the funny side. Deciding to lighten the mood further, pleased to see the sombre mood sported by her lover all morning dissipated, she continued the joke. "You know, for a moment there I was afraid we were becoming the Von Traps. I tell you now, I've heard the kids sing and it ain't pretty! Plus, I refuse to be a nun!"

The brunette, still laughing, leaned forward and kissed a blond eye brow in something of an apology. Taking the white lace back and putting it back, she reached forward to take her partners hand.

"I'll try to restrain myself in future!" Her eyes were dancing with mirth.

"That's all I ask!" Turning to the terrible threesome she gave them a baleful stare. "Now you treacherous little monsters, what shall I do to you?"

Before anybody knew what was happening the three children were running from the charging and snarling warrior. Screams of glee filled the foyer as one after the other Hunter grabbed the children, tickling and throwing them into the air. Francesca laughed along with them but couldn't join in, it would ruin her carefully selected outfit. Looking at the rumpled and red-faced appearance of her children she realized that her attempts to make them look presentable had all been in vain. But, for all that, she thought that they looked a lot better now. Sharing a jaw-splitting grin with her family, she quickly ushered them all towards the waiting chauffer and car.

Snuggled together in the back of the car both women waved goodbye to the children as they were ushered into the birthday party. Turning from the window, the heiress placed her hand on the warrior's neck pulling their heads together. They fell into the kiss with passion which they had to carefully control to avoid giving the driver a show. Long minutes passed before they pulled apart, just a little, and began to talk softly.

"Hope the kids enjoy themselves." Green eyes kept flicking back to the window even though they were now out of sight of the house.

Francesca loved to hear her lover talk about the children with such honest affection, it warmed her heart. "I'm sure they will. They were already buzzing from the fun they had at home! I swear, the Berringers are going to think that we feed them nothing but raw sugar." They shared an affectionate smile at the thought before Francesca's expression clouded slightly. "Something's been on my mind since the other night."

"What would that be?" Hunter didn't need to ask which night she was talking about.

"You said you do best on one hours sleep each night but when we bought you it said four hours. You used to sleep for four in my closet." The blond could see the confusion in her companion's eyes and something else, a small measure of fear.

"That was a typo in the catalogue. It should have said that the minimum I needed to function was four hours sleep a week. I wasn't going to tell you that when I was still nothing more than a slave to you. Those stolen hours were all that I had to myself; they let me keep self control. Then later when I was hurt you wanted us to sleep together. I never told you because sleeping together made you so happy! Guess we know that was a stupid idea now, don't we?" She was visibly chagrined.

"Oh." She looked satisfied for now but knowing the singer this would no doubt come up again. They began to talk about more mundane things as they approached their first stop of the day, her agent.

The singer had been recording a new album during the fiasco with Jordan. Unable to record after the stalking became more intense and unwilling to when the gladiator was missing, she had used the experiences to write some of her best lyrics to date. After Hunter was retrieved and recovering from her horrific injuries at home, Francesca had made the time to finish recording. Today she would be meeting with her agent, Jake Read, and her publicist, Rashid Dariwal.

As they got closer to Read's building, the bodyguard began to squirm a little in her seat. The woman resting against her noticed but said nothing, knowing instinctively what was going on in her partners head. Since being tortured and almost killed by her former lover she had not left the Prince mansion. The furthest she had been was the grounds surrounding the imposing building, she had not been out in public. It made her feel self-conscious and if she was honest with herself, doubt her abilities as a protector. It had been while she was protecting Francesca that they had both been abducted and she had resolved never to let her guard down again.

Compounding her new found insecurities about her professionalism, came her relationship worries. She had no doubt that they loved each other; she saw that everyday within eyes so blue that you could drown in them. The problem was the outside forces, nobody would accept them being together. If the public ever found out that such a prominent celebrity was consorting with slaves her career and reputation would be destroyed. Even if it was made public that all of the Prince slaves were free it would be just as bad. Culturally, choosing a slave or former slave as a mate was considered lower than mating with your family pet. More than anything she wanted to protect her lover physically, emotionally and professionally from the outside world. That would mean putting their relationship out of her mind when they were out together. For today, she had to be nothing more than a bodyguard.

With this thought held firmly in her mind she began to pull away from the heiress. Distancing herself in body and mind, she squared her shoulders and gently pushed the other woman away. Francesca at first looked stunned until she saw the grim smile on the guards face and understood what she was trying to do. She gave Hunter a last, reassuring kiss on the cheek as they pulled to a stop.

"Still got that thing looking after you I see!" His tone was accusatory as he jerked a finger in the short woman's direction. She stood beside the door in a pose of complete calm, unaffected by his words.

Francesca wasn't as composed, "What do you mean by that Jake?"

"Face it Francesca, she hasn't exactly proved herself to be an asset so far. Since she's been your bodyguard your house has been bombed, your husbands dead and you've been kidnapped. Then you waist a shit-load of cash getting her back from the kidnapper! Why you didn't leave her with the whacko I will never know! Trade her in, get a better model; she's doing you no favours!" His red-rimmed eyes shone with a fire that was rarely seen outside of conference rooms and negotiation.

"Jake, if not for Hunter that 'whacko' would either still be stalking me or I'd be dead by now!" She was trying hard not to let her anger boil over into an argument. As much as she didn't agree with his beliefs and shaky morals, he was a great agent. "Let's drop it, we'll never agree on this." She could see that he wanted to push further but the icy cold stare she shot him silenced any further outburst.

"Fine, down to business then! You've been in the news a hell of a lot lately and that will work well for the album release. Now we need to focus the attention of the public onto your work and away from the more high-octane elements of your private life. That's part of the reason that you're going to see Rashid this afternoon. We also need to make it seem as though you're back on the market, get you out on the town with a few pretty boys." So animated was he by his ideas that he barely noticed the woman opposite him choke on her mouthful of water.

"You want me to what?"

Read clearly did not hear the incredulity in her voice. "If we get you out dating your fans will think that they have a chance. It also makes you seem younger and more carefree. Trust me, it's a sure fire way to get you back on top."

"Jake, I am not going to prostitute myself for the media!" There was a pause as she processed all of what he had said. "What do you mean back on top, I'm still at the top!"

Hunter, in the background and clearly all but forgotten by the two people seated at the table, shook her head minutely. This was obviously going to be a meeting that went around in circles as much as it discussed issues she had little interest in. As the agent managed to steer them away from another argument by opening a file on his computer and angling it to the singers view, Hunter began to tune their words out.

The bodyguard was still alert to any movement inside or outside of the room and would instantly tune into any talk that involved her. She was simply able to think of other things while they were discussing issues that did not hold her interest. As cute as she found her lovers bickering, she could only listen to so much before it began to grate on her nerves. To fill her time she began to study the man seated in front of her and the space that he inhabited.

Jake Read looked about as far from being a showbiz agent as it was humanly possible to get. He wore an ill fitting suit which looked as though it had been slept in… For 5 years! His hair was greasy and mussed and his skin had a sickly pallor, made worse by the harsh fluorescent light filling the room. Hunter doubted that the man did any sort of physical activity if he could help it as, although not fat, he had a wasted look.

The office in which he was based was opulent and hinted at the man's success. He seemed to have every gadget known to man just in this one room. The office itself was huge, with windows taking up two walls. It was even elegantly decorated. Looking again at the owner it was clear that he had help in choosing the décor. At least somebody associated with him had taste. Trouble was, it just made him seem sleazier, as though he had the office in order to lure sweet young things in. Hunter couldn't help a little shudder as she put Francesca into that position in her mind, she could just see Douglas pushing her towards this man and his services. She would have to ask about that later.

She continued to think in tangents as Read and his best client discussed public appearances and assorted fees. This was going to be a long, boring day!

"How did you ever hook up with a low-rent looser like him?" The second they settled back into the car the blond couldn't hold back her curiosity.

Francesca softly rubbed her temples, feeling a headache bloom after several hours with her agent and the day wasn't over yet. They were on their way to meet with her publicist and spend more hours going over details. It had been some time since she had played this game and she was quickly remembering all the down sides to her fame. Not wanting to let her partner know she was not feeling well, she focused on her question.

"Jake isn't like that. You shouldn't judge him on his appearance!" She smiled to soften her words.

"Chess, he isn't exactly the greatest people person either, you argued more with him this afternoon than you do with me. How does he ever get you any work?" Genuine curiosity laced her voice.

"Jake can be a real charmer when he puts his mind to it. He just knows that he doesn't have to put on heirs for me. We grew up together. His father is Dad's best friend. You might remember him; Big, tall man, fat, lots of red hair and a beard?" Hunter's face remained blank. "Well Jake became Roddie's best friend…"

"You're kidding?" Comprehension was clearly dawning. "That's JJ? Chubby, red haired JJ? JJ, 'I can't get my chinos dirty', JJ? JJ the boy who was so preppy it was painful to look at him?"

"Yes, yes, yes and yes." Her headache was quickly being replaced by wonder as she watched the expressions change and dance across the former slaves face.

"Well, woman, don't keep me in suspense! How did he go from clean cut JJ to sleazy Jake?"

Traffic gridlock meant that it took over an hour to reach their next appointment. More than enough time to tell the sometimes sordid, tale of her agent. Hunter had been rapt by the story of the boy trying to break out of his father's shadow and going to extremes.

Jake had been everything that Hunter remembered. One of those children that never looks dirty or even a little rumpled. Sharing his father's build and hair colour, he had been a smaller version of the vivacious man. Unfortunately he shared neither his father's exuberance nor his vision. Friendly in his own way, he had chaffed at his fathers ideas for him. Rodrigo had been his idle, the sort of free spirit that he knew he could never be, and as his teenage years progressed he decided to become his own man.

In college he was able to totally break free. No longer dressing as his father dictated, he began to skip meals and become obsessed with his studies. He was soon dangerously thin, his hair dyed so often that it was pale and straw-like. He had never looked worse yet never felt better about himself. He had taken his ideas for a business to his father and much to everybody's amazement they had agreed. He took to being an agent like a duck to water, especially when teenaged Francesca decided that fame was in her future.

When the heiress was finished, all her partner said was 'weird' with no elaboration. She could see that the other woman was not convinced that looking that bad could be a choice. Maybe she would come to understand the eccentric man in the future as they interacted for her business. Jake certainly needed to change his perceptions as well. If only he knew!

"Ma'am, it looks like we'll be another half hour, maybe you should call Mr. Dariwal?" Looking over his shoulder the driver looked apologetic.

"I think that sounds like a very good idea Steven, thank you." Dazzling white teeth highlighted the brilliant smile she sent his way.

Turning to take the phone from its holder a rough hand intercepted her movement, holding the cell out to her. Taking it she saw that the speed dial was already connecting her. With a mouthed 'thanks' she held the handset to her ear.

"Rashid Dariwal." The cultured voice rang through the speaker.

"Hi Raz, it's me. We're running late, traffic's murder."

"No problem, where are you right now? If you're too far away maybe we can reschedule for tomorrow."

"That's good of you Raz but we shouldn't be more than half an hour. We're at the corner of Fifth."

"Are you close to Tolby's restaurant?"

"Yeah, in fact we've been sitting next to it for 20 minutes." Francesca wasn't sure where that came from.

"Go in, I'll jump on my bike and be there in 5. Have you had lunch?"

"Not yet."

"Order, we'll have business lunch, kill two birds with one stone. See you soon!" The phone went dead in her hand and the brunette shook her head at his antics before leaning forward, tapping the driver on the shoulder and asking him to pull over.

"What's going on?"

"Rashid's going to meet us in that restaurant." She pointed as the car stopped at the curb.

Hunter opened the door and got out, holding it for her lover. "How's he going to get here? The traffic's just as bad the other way?"

Knowing that this would be their last opportunity to touch for the rest of the day, the taller woman ran her hand down her bodyguards arm from wrist to shoulder as she eased out of the car. As they pulled apart and the warrior drew on her mantle as protector Francesca answered her query. "He's got a motorcycle." She got a grunt in reply.

Rashid paused outside the doors to the eatery. He took a deep breath, ran his fingers through his hair and straightened his collar. Here we go, Raz. He pushed open the door and spotted his client sitting in a far corner. A stocky figure stood menacingly behind her keeping any would-be autograph hunters at bay. Plastering a broad grin on his face, trying to appear nonchalant, he motioned the maître d' away and headed towards the beauty sitting in his line of sight.

Hunter had been focused on her surroundings since they entered, aware of each person that came and went, assessing their possible threat. When she spotted the handsome young Asian man coming towards them she further refined her stance. Although she thought that this man must be Dariwal she was not taking any chances. She allowed her eyes to flicker to her charge, just briefly, and saw her react to seeing the man by sending him a beaming smile. As he drew closer she stood to greet him, going around the table and embracing him warmly.

"Hello handsome!"

"Hi beautiful!" The two continued to hold one another for longer than the observing bodyguard was comfortable with.

The pair sat opposite each other, Rashid placing his briefcase on the floor for now. Quickly a waiter approached with menus which were taken gratefully. The pair quickly selected their dishes and placed their orders. This was clearly a ritual which they had observed many times before as they seem to have silently agreed that business could wait until after the meal. Drinks were soon brought to the table while they waited for their meal.

Hunter couldn't help noticing that the man seated with her lover had yet to take his eyes off of the brunette. She had to admit to herself that they did make a striking couple as they sat together, and felt unsettled by the thought. She pulled her eyes away from the table and focused outwards to survey the rest of the room while her mind remained focused on the publicist. Had she continued to watch she would have seen him reach out to take Francesca's hand in a more than friendly gesture.


	4. Chapter 4

Knocking interrupted the festivities inside the redbrick townhouse. Excusing himself from the small gathering, a tall, greying man made his way towards the door. He held a glass of beer in one hand, taking casual sips as he moved towards the door. Wary by nature, he called out to the person on the other side as he approached.

"Who is it?"

The reply came, calm and measured. "Is this the Swanson half-way house? You take in newly freed slaves, right?"

"Yes, that's right young lady." His eye was now firmly pressed to the peep-hole. "Are we expecting you, dear? You look very familiar." He said the last while taking the safety chain from its cradle on the door and easing it open. Soon the woman, dressed in black, was backlit in the door way. The sun streaming in from the outside turned her into a living silhouette. A long shadow fell across the man. He felt a chill run through his body as recognition set in.

That's when the bullet tore through his head. It entered silently through his forehead and left a steaming crater in the back of his skull. The only sound in the hallway a soft metallic pop and a sigh, before the corpse succumbed to gravity and hit the floor.

Edging through the opening she quickly pulled the door closed behind her. Once inside she reached behind her neck with her right hand, gun still held firmly in her left, pulling a black hood over her head and face. All that remained visible were her eyes which reflected joy at a job well done.

Stepping lightly over the body, carefully avoiding the pool of blood, she silently moved down the hall. The sounds of merriment spilled down the hall from the main room, luring her towards her prey. She moved with a stealth that left no trace of her passing, deep scarlet creeping after her like a shadow. Brighter light spilled from the lounge illuminating one end of the corridor, acting as a beacon for her intent.

Standing beside the door frame, she observed the six people seated inside the room. Each had a wide smile spread across their face, chatting merrily and oblivious to her presence. It was easy to pick out the other home owner. Like her husband whose body lay rapidly cooling on the doormat, she was of middle age and greying. Plump and rosy cheeked she looked like a picture perfect matron. The way that they other people in the room hung on her words showed that she was popular with her clientele. The other five looked different. It was hard for the observer to articulate, but something in their very demeanour told her that they had been slaves; the way they held their bodies and deferred to the older woman. Even their attire seemed cheap and dated. They were a mix of men and women, of varying ages from teens to elderly.

Pulling a second handgun from the holster at the small of her back she moved fully into the doorway. All eyes turned to her as she levelled her guns at the people in the room. A single glass fell from nerveless fingers, crashing into a thousand pieces on the shiny wooden floor. That moment of stillness was quickly shattered by the sound of bodies crashing to the floor. Once again the silencer did its work, preventing any loud noises. She worked so rapidly that they barely had time to whimper, let alone scream.

Soon the room was littered with bodies. Tables and chairs lay smashed under the weight of falling forms. The walls seemed to weep blood and it gave into greater forces and trickled down. Beer and wine mixed with gore, creating interesting patterns over the floor. The guns were lowered, barrels still smoking, and replaced in their holsters.

Backing out of the room she quickly moved to the back door, unlatching it she flung it open; instantly ten black clad figures marched into the house, each carrying a large canister. With a brief nod she left the house, leaving them to finish the job.

Rashid watched the two women disappear around a corner as they went to the bathroom. He noticed, as they walked, that the slave seemed to walk a little too closely to the singer; it made him feel strangely fidgety. Once again he ran a nervous hand through his hair. The thought never crossed his mind that he was turning his well groomed appearance into that of an ill kempt scarecrow.

OK Raz, if you're going to do this you should do it now. Bite the bullet! The pep talk in his head was going well until seeds of doubt started to grow. What is she says no? I'll look like an idiot and then she'll be uncomfortable and I'll be uncomfortable. She'll take her business elsewhere; I'll lose a client and a friend. Is it worth it? His eyes were drawn to one of the singer's publicity shots that was still lying on the table. Dazzling blue eyes stared up at his from the glossy page. Yeah it is!

The young Asian man had felt drawn to the statuesque brunette from their first meeting. She was not only beautiful but warm and friendly too. If he hadn't already known he would never have believed that she was an heiress. Unfortunately her humility was not shared by her husband. The young publicist had always found Douglas to be pushy and overbearing. He could never understand how such a man could get a wife like Francesca and be able to keep her. He didn't like think ill of the dead but his client was certainly happier and more relaxed since his loss.

He shuffled the papers that still littered the desk while he continued to wait for the return of his lunch companion. How can women take so long in the bathroom? What are they doing in there?

"How can you not know that he has a crush on you?" Hunter's tone was incredulous.

"He does not!" Francesca batted at her partner's shoulder. The bodyguard had secured the main door to the bathroom to ensure that they would not be disturbed. Her curiosity was killing her.

"Chess, I saw the look in his eyes. He's like a little puppy dog, all moony eyed every time you look at him!" Hunter's tone was light, but there was something beneath it.

"Rhani, are you just a smidgeon jealous?" She held her index finger and thumb close to each other.

"Uhmm..." The blond was turning a rather attractive shade of pink as she rubbed the nape of her neck. Her eyes were darting around the room refusing to land on the other woman. "A little I guess. I mean he seems like a really nice guy and he is good looking and…"

"Shhhh!" A soft finger was placed firmly over her lips. "I admit that he may have the tiniest infatuation with me and yes he is all of those things that you mentioned but do you know what?" The finger that had remained on the other woman's lips through this, moved to caress her cheek. "He isn't you, so he has nothing going for him." Hunter's face bloomed with pride, making the other woman smile in response.

"Poor schlub!"

"You are just such a people person!" The heiress pretended to be choked up as she said the words. Her companion poked her tongue out. "We should get back out there, Raz probably thinks I've run away with the bus boy!"

Laughing the bodyguard unlatched the door and pulled it open, grateful that a line of women had not formed. As her partner walked past her she whispered in her ear, "When we get home I want to know all about you and Raz." Francesca pursed her lips and mock scowled, pout firmly in place.

The restaurant had stated to fill up as the day moved into late afternoon, many young men and women crowded the place. Their journey back to the table was filled with "hellos" and autographs. The groups of people, albeit small, that crowded around her lover made Hunter edgy. She stood to the side, a silent, brooding presence letting out a low growl when anybody got too close.

The publicist saw the two women coming back to the table and a beaming smile spread across his face, aimed at the beauty coming towards him. Hunter saw this and couldn't help the sneer that flittered across her face. She didn't want to feel any animosity towards the man, she genuinely liked how he treated the singer but she couldn't repress the frisson of jealousy. As they got closer to the table a disturbance on the street outside caught the attention of every diner in the restaurant.

Flames licked at the sides of the townhouse that was now reduced to little more than a single floor of rubble. Fire crews had raced to the scene, desperate to quench the flames. Their ceaseless attempts had been to no avail as they continued to pummel the flames with jet after jet of high pressure water.

The residents of the neighbourhood were out in force, mostly worried about their own homes. Some tried to aid the fire-fighters, but most just stood around watching. On the fringe of the group of watchers stood a young man, he held a cell phone firmly to his ear, listening attentively. Occasionally he would nod at something that was said on the other end. He was inconspicuously dressed in baggy jeans and a dark hooded sweatshirt, the hood pulled firmly over his head obscuring most of his face. As he watched several other observers, dressed much like him, began to drift through the crowds.

"I saw those slaves running away when the house went up!" One whispered into the ear of an elderly shopkeeper.

"I knew that this would happen, letting those sort of people into our street!" Another cried.

"I saw a new one arrive this afternoon, looked dangerous. Seems like more than a coincidence to me!"

Murmuring grew in small pockets as the seeds of doubt were planted. People who had previously had no gripe with the half-way house suddenly found a million reasons why it had blighted their lives. The free men and women, housed there over years as they began new lives were vilified in a second. Cries for justice grew until the whole crowd was ready to take action themselves.

"Everything is going to plan, so far." The voice crackled a response at the end of the line.

The fire now under control, several of the fire fighters made their way into the rubble in search of bodies. Minutes passed with each watcher holding their breath, hoping beyond hope that somebody would be found alive. It was not long before two of the officers staggered out with a body carried between them. Although covered in blood and soot the familiarly rotund body of Hamish Swanson was recognizable to all. The whisperers now turned to shouts of rage as the second team struggled out with Julia Swanson. The kindly couple had clearly met their demise in a brutal fashion as crimson blood was clearly visible coating the bodies. As the uproar continued, even as two paramedics went over to state the obvious, the man with the phone spoke to his employer.

"Stage one complete. Are we ready for stage two?" The affirmative was all he needed to hear. Punching telephone off, he dialled in a new set of numbers. The click of connection was all he needed to hear. "Initiate stage two!" He snapped the phone shut and melted into the shadows, fully confident that his words had been put into action.

It started with screaming. Over a hundred men and women were running through the streets hollering at the tops of their lungs. They thundered through the gridlocked traffic, hitting cars as they raced passed. Some even began to jump on hoods, leaping from one to another. The drivers were too scared to make any signs of protest. As individuals passed by rapidly closing windows the drivers could clearly make out their rallying cry… Freedom!

On the sidewalk the horde charged towards pedestrians, knocking them down indiscriminately. Those lucky souls who avoided impact took note of the clothes worn by the throng; each one was emblazoned with the logo of an emancipation group. Some even held EFA placards which they wielded like weapons at the heads of passers by.

The street began to rapidly clear of civilians as they dashed towards the relative safety of shops, offices and restaurants. The rampaging group did not seem to notice as they continued their onward surge. Some began to slow down in order to create just a little more mayhem. A group of young men began to rock a large black car, much to the horror of its occupant. They rocked it so severely that eventually it was turned onto its side where they proceeded to smash the underside, sending gasoline all over the road and other cars.

The leaders of the group had satchels slung over their shoulders which as one they began to rout through as they continued to move forwards. Each one drew out a small black square, innocuous enough in appearance, which triggered terror in the people still trapped within their cars. As arms wound back and prepared to heave the small but deadly devices towards the surrounding buildings, the drivers braced for the worst.

As the couple neared their table Hunter heard shouting filtering through the restaurant. As first she thought that it was simply more of the eager autograph hunters getting excited however a quick look at the faces of the other diners disabused her of that notion. Looking towards her ward she motioned for the other woman to move close to Rashid behind the table. This positioned placed them both as far away from the windows of the restaurant as was possible.

"If I give you the signal, get under the table!" It was an order which Francesca obeyed readily, well aware of her bodyguards prowess. Rashid on the other hand resisted the instructions given to him by a 'slave'.

"Raz, do as she says! I trust her implicitly so don't do anything stupid." His face showed that he was still against following the instructions but he nodded in accent.

Seeing that her instructions would be followed the stocky blond made her way speedily to the huge pane of glass which served as the restaurants front wall. Looking out she could see people beginning to appear in the distance, running as if for their lives. Unable to glean enough information while still inside she ventured through h the door way. Now outside she could hear the screams more clearly and her enhanced hearing allowed her to make out their war cry clearly.

Green eyes narrowed as the throng drew closer and closer. Still too far away for a normal person to make out any details, her enhanced eyes still allowed her greater vision than normal, although not as sharp as they had once been. She was able to see the shiny boxes being drawn from more than eight bags; able to make out arms drawing back to hurl the objects into buildings. Even before the first hit its intended target she was rushing back into the restaurant, shouting at the top of her lungs for the people inside to get down.

"Why should we slave?"

"Shut up animal!"

"Why don't you go back to your mistress?"

"Hysterical nonsense!"

"Yeah it's nothing!"

These were the responses she had expected and it saddened her that they were so narrowed minded that they would not even move to protect their own lives. She quickly ran towards the table where she had left the singer, relief washing over her as she saw that both her lover and the publicist were crouched under it.

Before she could reach them a series of explosions tore through the street, rocking the buildings to there very foundations. Glass exploded inwards as the aftershock of the explosions spread through the surrounding buildings. The restaurant sparkled with broken glass, the patrons cut and bleeding. Part of the ceiling had fallen down from the force of the blast outside and tables had been turned upside down. The diners who only moments ago were disdainful of Hunter's warnings now sat terrified at their tables, whimpering softly.

Hunter herself had been thrown to the floor as she moved away from the window. Somewhat dazed but otherwise unharmed she stumbled to her feet, shaking the clinging particles of glass from her hair she moved rapidly towards her lover. Skidding down onto her knees she ended up beside the two cowering figures beneath the table.

"How… When… I…" Rashid was clearly shocked and trying desperately to process what had happened.

"I think they broke him." Francesca smiled and jerked a thumb towards the shaking man. She found herself oddly calm in the face of the blast.

Levelling her eyes at her partner the bodyguard sighed, "You know I am thinking of putting you into a bullet proof box and not letting you out of the houses grounds! This is getting habit forming!"

"Me? If it's anybody it's you missy! It's like trouble follows you around and then beats the tar out of you."

"You know, I could just leave you here…" Her grin was child like and full of joy that both of them had survived once again. Beside them Rashid continued to shake and jump as more explosions went off in the distance. The only think helping his fraying nerves was the fact that they were rapidly receding.

The blond reached into her pocket and pulled out a cell phone, quickly punching in familiar digits. "Hello Roger? I take it you heard the explosions?" She waited for a response. "Where are you? You didn't stay at the front did you?" Worry was clear in her voice before she let out a relieved breath. "Well done for going around the back. Look, we'll be coming out the back, fast. Have the engine ready and be ready to go down the back ways."

Francesca had followed the phone conversation and collected her bag from the floor. The two women stood without exchanging a word, ready to leave the scene of chaos that they now stood amongst. People were now running around crying and screaming. Some diners had made there way onto the street and were running for their lives. On the street outside there was fire and death in almost equal measure. Sirens could be heard in the distance but they were too little too late. The two women began to move towards the kitchens and the back exit.

They had reached the swinging doors to the kitchen before they realised that the young Asian man was not with them. Turning, they both fixed their eyes on his cowering form under the table. Shaking her head and motioning for the singer to stay put, the bodyguard marched over to him and dragged him from under the table. She pulled him along behind her until they reached the doors. In the short journey he had managed to find his feet and stumble after her. Silently the three darted through the kitchen which had been spared the damage of the blast. Hitting the backdoor they emerged into a dingy but secure alleyway where the car waited for them.

Climbing into the car Francesca noted that her friend was simply standing in the alley, tears streaming down his face. Hunter turned from her position in the front of the car where she could watch the road, to see what her lover was looking at, she had chosen. It would also allow her lover to comfort her friend. Neither woman could understand why he had yet to climb into the car, he should have been eager to leave.

"Raz, what's the matter? We need to get out of here." Francesca's voice was soft and coaxing, the same tone she used on the children when they woke from bad dreams.

"I can't get in your car." His voice cracked on every word. He couldn't continue and simply gestured towards his pants. For the first time both women noticed the rapidly spreading dark patch over his crotch.

"Oh, Raz, we were all scared. It'll be all right. Let me take you back to my place and we can talk about all this." She reached out a hand which he took and allowed himself to be pulled into the car.

Hunter gestured for the chauffer to start moving and pulled a gun from the holster at the small of her back. Leaning back in her chair she could hear her lover making shushing noises to the man that she now held in her arms, giving comfort. The warrior allowed her senses to move outside of the car as they moved down another small street. Nobody would be hurting her lover today not if she could help it. Her hand flexed tighter on the butt of the gun.


	5. Chapter 5

Darla rushed to the side of the car as it drew to a halt in front of the mansion. The older woman was clearly relieved as she saw her daughter jump from the back seat. Throwing her arms around her youngest child, Darla checked her for bumps and bruises, clucking over her much as her daughter had done with her own children that morning. Like mother, like daughter, thought Hunter as she looked on indulgently.

Rashid too watched the two women embrace. Brown eyes stayed transfixed by the pair as he remained, unmoving, in the car. His embarrassment was making him reluctant to move from the safety of his seat, he knew that he had ruined the upholstery. Another thing that kept him rooted to his spot was the idea of further humiliating himself in front of the beautiful woman who had held him so tenderly in her arms on the way here.

As he remained transfixed by the reunion of mother and child he noticed movement around the front of the car. As he watched, the bodyguard joined the pair in front of the main doors. Although she still maintained a rigid stance, the way that she leaned into the conversation just seemed… off somehow. When the older woman reached out and cupped the slave's cheek, his curiosity was thoroughly peeked. Pulling together all the myriad threads of his scattered dignity, he opened the door and eased himself to the ground. On cautious feet, feeling uncomfortably damp, he moved beside the hood of the car. It shielded his groin and kept him far enough away that he could continue to observe the interaction without interrupting it. The main difference was that now he could hear their words.

"You've cut your cheek! Are you sure that you're all right?" The motherly tone of the other woman and the gentle touch on her face warmed the warrior's heart.

"I really am fine." She saw Darla reach up a thumb to her mouth. "Really, if you try to clean off my face with that I think I'll die of embarrassment!"

She recalled the morning's fun and couldn't help the smile that crept across her face. The two other women let their own relieved smiles answer hers. She hadn't been entirely truthful when she had said that she was fine, she could feel a definite tension across her chest and needed to check it out. No need to worry the other two just yet. She caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eyes and wheeled towards the car, poorly masking a wince of discomfort as she did so.

Francesca followed her partner's line of sight- but not before noticing her twitch. She would have to ask her about that later. Looking towards the car, she could see Raz hiding behind the hood with a sheepish grin plastered on his face. He was very obviously mortified but trying valiantly to hide it. She waved her mother over and took the towelling robe that she had dropped to the floor when she embraced her daughter. With a casual air she threw it across the car and motioned that the young man should put it on.

"Hay Raz, I need to shower and change, I feel a little uneasy. I also have to make sure that my guard here is fully functioning." This was delivered with a wink only seen by the blonde standing beside her. It caused the smaller woman to colour. "Why don't you go with Mom, she'll show you to a guest room and let you get changed. That's right isn't it, Mom?"

Catching on that he needed some support, Darla readily agreed with her daughter. "That's right. We have plenty of hot water, and the boys all have clothes here so we should be able to get you something. When you're done I'll get you some tea. Follow me."

Feeling much more confident wrapped in the robe, Rashid followed his client's mother into the house. As he passed the two women who had been with him in the restaurant he tried to catch Francesca's eye, but all of her attention was now firmly fixed on her slave. It was strange and unsettling to see. He continued with his revelry as he moved into the house.

******  
Cobalt eyes narrowed as the tall woman reached out a manicured hand and grasped her smaller companion's chin. Turning the other woman's face to the side, she intently studied her. The blonde began to squirm under the scrutiny, knowing exactly what her lover was looking at.

"It's just a scratch." It was said in a tiny voice as she tried to shake the hand off.

"It's a cut Rhani, you're bleeding." The hand moved from her chin and a single finger began to caress the flesh around the wound. "I just want to make sure you're fit and well. You protect me, I just want to take care of you." Hunter nodded, feeling a little chastised and realising that this was how her partner dealt with fear.

The couple turned as one and made their way into the house. Just as they passed through the door, Francesca turned to her lover, "Don't think I didn't notice you wincing earlier! I am going to examine you thoroughly when we get to our room!" She noticed the bodyguard grinning wolfishly. "Not like that you little pervert!" A pout was thrown her way, which tuned into a grin as the couple made their way up the stairs.

Now that Hunter allowed herself to feel it, every step sent a jolt of pain through her chest. Hoping that she had not cracked a rib, she followed her partner up the ornate staircase which, today, looked entirely too foreboding. To take her mind off of the discomfort, she continued talking.

"Heard you ask your mom about the kids when you were on the cell. They're all right?" She knew that they were, Francesca would never be this calm otherwise but she did feel the need to check.

"Yeah, the children are fine. Mom said that the Berringers didn't even know that there had been a disturbance. Mom called them the second she saw it on the news. The party is still going on but Dad's gone to get the kids." Hunter tensed and looked like she was about to bolt for the door. "Oh no you don't! Dad took Shep with him, and yes, Shep volunteered. They'll all be home soon and playing in the garden. Right now I'm going to check you over even if I have to knock you out and carry you up here!"

The blonde looked thoroughly chastised and cast her eyes to the steps beneath her feet. She had heard the lingering traces of worry in her partner's voice and knew she was helping. She stayed silent as she watched the stairs turn into hallway. Stopping Francesca outside the door to their shared room, Hunter knew she had to say something.

"Sorry I'm being such a pain in the ass, Chess. Old habits and, well, you know the rest."

"I know that you're not used to being pampered when you're hurt but you have a different life now. You better get used to it, buddy!" A long finger was jokingly tapped onto the blonde's chest with each word. The finger moved up to tickle the underside of her chin. "You just have to learn that you're not a caged tiger anymore, you're a house cat." Although only teasing, Francesca could see that Hunter was a little affronted by that. "Ok, so you're more like one of those tigers that Seigfried and Roy lived with… Oh God, that's worse isn't it?"

"I'd stop digging while you're only half-way to China, Chess. I get what you mean."

Finally entering the bedroom, the warrior made her way straight towards the bathroom. Stopping briefly to take off her jacket, the brunette followed. When she entered she was surprised to see her lover standing in the bathtub, fully clothed. The tub was empty and the blonde seemed to be ruffling through her hair to give it body. Francesca was more than a little confused and had to ask about it.

"Rhani, what exactly are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm trying to make sure I don't get any bits of glass on the floor. I think I've got chips in my hair and clothes from being knocked down. Just wanted to make sure none went on the floor, don't want anybody to get chips in their feet."

"Let me give you a hand." The heiress put a towel over the floor. "Give me your clothes and I'll put them over here. I can wrap them up and take them down to the laundry room."

Quickly stripping off her suit jacket, both women heard the soft tinkling of glass hitting the bottom. Passing one item to her lover, she pulled her shirt off over her head, leaving her clad in only her sports bra. Balling them up, she threw them deftly onto the towel before moving to undo her pants. As she looked up from her zipper, she caught Francesca staring at her chest. Almost comically the warrior's eyes travelled to the spot her partner was staring at.

"Wow!" Across the top of her chest, just above the swell of her breasts, was a long purple welt. The bruise was more than a foot long and an inch wide. It stood out starkly against her pale flesh, looking like a brand. The skin around the wound was reddened and looked livid. "No wonder it hurts like a bitch!" Hunter tested it with her finger and let out a hissing breath at the pain it caused.

"Rhani, that looks really bad. How the hell did that happen?" An edge of panic tinged the melodious voice, not surprising considering the horrific injuries that she had already seen this body suffer.

"I must have hit the floor harder than I thought when I got knocked down by the blast. I probably landed across a chair leg. I never even noticed."

"Do you need to go to the hospital?" The younger woman's voice was starting to crack, an edge of panic creeping in as she remained focused on the bruising.

"Let me take a few really deep breaths before I answer that, maybe do a little stretching. If nothing hurts too much then I'm fine. I think it's just superficial!" Seeing that the other woman still looked shaken, Hunter made a decision. "Chess, I really could use an icepack. Here," she jumped out of the tub and pulled her pants off simultaneously. It was an impressive feat, made possible by the fact that she had left her shoes inside the door. "Take my clothes too."

Francesca looked reluctant but took the bundle of clothes in her arms. "I'll bring that little vacuum thingy up as well. You sit on the toilet and don't move!" The upraised fingered forestalled any protest. "Sit!" Instantly and with a resigned sigh she sat heavily on the toilet seat. "Stay!" With that she rushed from the room like a woman possessed.

Sitting stock still,Hunter waited for the other woman to leave the main room before wadding up a towel and groaning into it. The pain radiating through her was making her feel nauseous. Nothing was broken, that had not been a lie, but no way was she going to let her lover see how much pain she was in. For years she had been in an environment that taught you not to show weaknesses. Pain was the biggest weakness of all and she honestly did not like Chess to see it. It made her feel like less of a protector. Masking her pain made it easier on the younger woman as it alleviated much of her worry. Hunter figured that she'd already caused her share of that.

Breathing through the pain, she felt it lessen across her chest as she continued to stretch and expand her muscles. She'd be fine in the morning if she could give the muscles the right treatment now. All that would be left was some residual stiffness a whole lot of ugly swelling. Damn it, her head fell back against the toilet tank, should have asked for a heat pack too! Stupid! Her head thumped against the porcelain again.

So involved was she in berating herself that she failed to hear her lover re-enter the room. Francesca walked through the door in time to see the tousled head bounce off the edge for the third time. Clearing her throat she stood in the doorway, arms balancing two cool packs and a vacuum. As the smaller woman turned startled and sheepish eyes towards her she raised an eyebrow.

"Chess… Hi… Umm… I was just…"

"I honestly don't think I want to know." Walking forward she perched on the corner of the bath, pressing two small pills into her lover's waiting hand. Placing the cleaning equipment into the tub she watched the painkillers being swallowed dry, before offering two packs to the injured woman. "I bought you a heat pack too!" Once her hands were free she reached out and ruffled the blonde bangs.

"You can read my mind!" Pressing the cool pack to the swelling, she reached up to take the hand threaded through her hair. Pulling the hand to her lips she pressed a kiss to her wrist and gave her partner a beatific grin.

Grasping the hand that now held hers, the brunette pulled her lover to her feet and dragged her towards the bedroom. A wolfish smile spread across the cherubic face, which fell as soon as she saw the look of concentration on her taller companion's face. She was led to the bed and pushed down onto the yielding surface. Lying there, looking up into the gentle blue eyes, she fell in love with the brunette all over again. Unable to resist the other woman's wishes, she gave into her tender ministrations. Francesca saw her lover relax and picked up the cold compress.

The long, thin, bag, which Hunter often used to cool down, was placed along the bruise's length. The chill entered her chest and brought instant relief. The warmer bag was placed on the reddened skin above the wound, while agile fingers massaged the swelling below. Long minutes passed before the heat pack was placed where cool fingers had been. Those same digits moved across the heated flesh at the top of her chest, making small circles that were doing wonders for the prone woman. The bag switching routine went on for a half hour before the taller woman discarded the pack and rested her hand on the taut abdomen of her warrior.

Dazed green eyes fluttered open, a delayed action as she realised that the soothing circles had moved from her chest to her navel. Rolling her shoulders to test just how tender she still felt she found that the pain had been reduced to a dull ache. It was little more than the usual stress that her body was under and she was pleased with the results produced by the drugs and care given to her by the other woman. With her lover's hand still on her stomach, Hunter used those powerful muscles to bring herself into a sitting position. She looked on with delight as she saw the heiress look down at the flesh under her hand. The muscles stood out starkly and turned her stomach into a hard board. Manicured nails started to, almost involuntarily, scratch over the ridges as the women drew face to face.

"Hi."

"Hi."

The words were said simultaneously with a hint of shyness. Both women giggled nervously at having spoken at the same time before they fell into a tender kiss. Hunter moved her hands to tangle in the thick onyx hair, drawing them closer together. Francesca's hand remained on her abdomen but her stroking became more insistent, burning trails of fire in their wake. Passions soon became heated as tongues asked for and were bade welcome into the warm embrace of mouths.

Suddenly the brunette pulled away, gasping for breath and quickly retrieving her hand. Stunned, the blonde almost toppled face first into the mattress. Saving herself at the last moment, the bodyguard sat staring in disbelief at her lover. Francesca refused to meet her eyes and instead seemed intent to watch her hands as they idly picked at the comforter's surface. Grasping the other woman's face in her hands she forced blue eyes to meet with her own.

"Ok Chess, what did I miss?"

"You're hurt and…" A finger was placed over her lips to stop the spill of words.

"Did that seem like it was hurting me?" Francesca shook her head, no. "It's true, my chest does hurt but the pain pills have kicked in and after that massage I feel great. You'll just have to be gentle with me!" Wiggled eyebrows accompanied this and a lascivious grin, which sent the heiress into fits of laughter.

Hunter saw the tension drain from the other woman and took the opportunity to pounce on her. Rolling the tall, lithe woman onto her back she began to tug at her clothes sending buttons flying. Letting out a squeal of protest, Francesca was about to bemoan the loss of her blouse when soft lips suddenly latched onto her nipple through her newly revealed bra. Quickly forgetting everything but the feel of soft, warm lips she threaded her fingers through short hair and pulled her closer.

Sliding one calloused hand down, over the flat plane of her stomach, Hunter moved to one beautifully sculpted leg. The feel of silk beneath the rough pads of her fingertips sent a pull to her very core. Her hands moved teasingly up one stocking clad leg, feeling the breath of the woman below her hitch. Her other hand pushed the reclining woman's bra up, releasing her straining breasts and continuing to feast on them. As her fingertips met the moist fabric of Francesca's panties any lingering thought of pain flew out of her mind. Pleasure was all consuming as hands moved from blonde head to broad shoulders, nails clawing into her flesh.

"Rhani!" the name was panted, breathlessly sexy.

"Mmmm." The blonde didn't even raise her head.

"Clothes… Off… Now!" It would have sounded like an order had it not been punctuated by breathy moans.

Devilish grin firmly in place, Hunter flew off the bed, dragging Francesca's skirt and panties with her in an effortless show of strength and agility. Her lover was now splayed on the bed, legs encased in sheer silk, bra pushed aside and blouse looking like a halo around her torso. She looked like a sacrifice and Hunter was the beast who would devour her. With almost blinding speed she roughly ripped off her own bra and pants, feeling only a slight twinge in her chest as she moved. Satisfied that she was not going to aggravate her injury, she turned her sole focus onto her lover.

In the brief moment it had taken Hunter to remove her remaining clothes, Francesca had taken the opportunity to remove her own bra and blouse. As the warrior stood over her, muscles twitching with tension, tattoo standing out vividly against the skin of shoulders and arms, the brunette moved to take off her stockings. With lightening speed, Hunters hands grasped her own, pulling them away from her legs. She found herself pinned to the bed by the weight of her lover, hands held above her head by one of the other woman's. Lips close to her ear sent breath across the sensitive flesh, making her shiver.

"Leave them on!" It was a seductive whisper and the last coherent sentence that either woman would utter for some time.

******  
Raz looked towards the backdoor of the impressive home for what felt like the thousandth time in an hour. What could possibly be taking the two women so long? In the time since he had arrived at the house he had not seen either his client or her bodyguard. Now, sitting in a lounge chair on the patio, watching the three children play in the pool with their grandfather, he let himself contemplate the inhabitants of the house.

Rashid had only visited the mansion once before, in the days when Francesca's career was new and so was her marriage. When the stunning young woman had first married, the couple had lived in the Prince family home. Rashid was never really sure why and it was a very short-lived arrangement, only lasting two months. When he had come to begin his business relationship with the young singer, the family who staunchly guarded their privacy, had held him very much at arm's length. He had seen very little of their home and nothing of their personality. As the years had passed, he had become close friends with the singer but never had any further contact with her parents, until today.

The media portrayed Salvatore Prince as a gruff, no nonsense businessman. He was lethal in the boardroom and did not suffer fools. He was seldom looked on with any affecting in the press. His wife, Darla was simply an enigma. Very few people outside of their circle knew anything about her past or, in fact, her present. Those that did have tales to tell held them close to their chests, realising that the woman's friendship was more precious than the money that would be offered by tabloid rags.

Today was proving to be a revelation to the young Asian man. As he sat in the expansive grounds he was watching one of the countries most powerful men frolicking in the pool like a child. He was chasing and in turn being chased by his grandchildren. Most of the time the surface of the pool was obscured by splashes making it look like a giant Jacuzzi. He had yet to see the older man stop laughing. He was the epitome of a doting grandfather. He had been cordial to Rashid when he had returned to the house with the children. He even seemed to have a real affection for the large male slave who was sitting on the edge of the pool, occasionally hoisting and dumping one or the other of the children into the water.

Rashid had been pleased that the older man had not been around when he arrived at the mansion. He had been mortified by his body's betrayal, and having a man whom he admired see him in that state would have made it truly unbearable. It wasn't that having Francesca, her bodyguard and her mother see him wasn't embarrassing, it was simply that it would be different in front of a man.

Darla Prince had been nothing but kind and gracious since he arrived. Once given over to her care by her daughter, he had been treated like a member of the family and not once made to feel self-conscious. The older woman had taken him to one of the many guest bedrooms, shown him to the en suite and found a change of clothes for him. He had sped through a shower and thrown the clothes on, keen to be clean. While he showered, his clothes had been removed and, he later found out, taken to the laundry.

Darla had taken him to the kitchen, given him a medicinal cup of tea and he was now feeling much better. Granted that the tracksuit bottoms and t-shirt were a little big, but he felt remarkably good. All he needed now was Francesca to arrive in the garden so that he could make amends for embarrassing himself in front of her. She had been inside the house for more than an hour. The only thing keeping him from going in search of his client in order to check on her well being was the calm that pervaded her parents. If they were not worried then there was nothing to worry about. Besides, Darla was extremely good company and she had some amazing stories to tell.

******  
"Sal, do you think one of us should go and check on the girls?" Shep had just thrown Terry through the air and back into the water. The boy surfaced quickly and pumped his fist in glee, he had flown further than either of his sisters.

"Not unless you want to see something that'll make you go blind my boy!" Sal smiled up at the younger man. Since the slaves had come into the house, and especially since his daughter had set them free, he had felt a real fatherly affection towards the three who had stayed. "I do think it's time I got out of here, I'm pruning!"

Salvatore heaved himself out of the pool and grabbed one of the towels that rested on the edge. Quickly drying off his skin he rubbed at his head until his greying hair was only damp before wrapping the towel around his waist and making his way over to his wife. He smiled gently at the young man beside his wife as he approached the pair, noticing the slight flush that darkened his already dusky skin. Poor kid! Reaching his wife he leant over and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek before collapsing into a third lounger. Darla noticed her husband's semi-collapse onto the chair and leaned to whisper in his ear.

"You feeling your age, my love?" There was nothing but affection in her soft voice.

"I swear, these kids are going to be the death of me. Ours were never this lively!"

"Oh yes they were Sal, only you were thirty years younger!" She playfully smacked one of his bare arms as she giggled at the grimace on his face. Watching all this, Raz couldn't help but smile at the older couple's antics. He hoped that one day he would have something like that.

The three fell into easy conversation as they continued to watch the children play in the pool. Shep, staunch and reliable as he was, stayed close to the edge of the water to act as lifeguard in case anything should happen to one of the children. The children were totally engrossed in their games, oblivious to what the adults were doing until they heard the sound of the back door opening and closing. With a speed that would have made a prairie dog jealous, three heads turned in the direction of the sound just before the trio dashed to get out of the water and run towards it. Shep thought about telling them not to run, but was pretty sure that his words would fall on deaf ears as he spotted what they were running towards. Standing in the doorway were Francesca and Hunter.

Rashid turned as he saw where the children were headed and his breath caught in his throat. Standing in front of him was one of the most breath taking sights that he had ever seen. Francesca was clad in a simple blue bikini top and a matching sarong. The colour of the garments brought out her vivid blue eyes and her lightly tanned skin seemed to glow in the late afternoon sun. Her feet were bare and he noticed and fine gold chain around her ankle. As the children barrelled into their mother, who crouched down to embrace each one, his eyes moved to the muscular figure standing beside the heiress.

If possible the bodyguard looked even more intimidating in her swimsuit than she had in her suit. Perhaps it was because every muscle was outlined by the fading sun, or maybe it was because of the slight pang of recognition that started somewhere in the back of his mind. She was clothed in a tankini top and swim shorts all in sheer black. It blended into the intricate tattoo that traced over her upper torso. He knew that he should stop staring but something was itching at the back of his mind about her, just as he was about to look away he noticed the long vivid bruise across the top of her chest.

"Tiny, what happened to you?" Sal's voice cut through Rashid's revelry and made him drag his eyes away.

"I'm good Sal, just fell over." The short woman jogged down the short set of stairs onto the patio, Becca firmly held in her arms. The little girl, after hugging her mother had latched onto her human comforter and wouldn't let go. Rather than have a little limpet stuck to her leg the warrior had hoisted her into her arms.

Running towards the lawn she was soon joined by the other two children and Shep who was waving a soccer ball in the air. Soon an energetic game of soccer was taking place although to the watching adults it did seem that none of the players really knew what they were doing. Most of the time the group were in some sort of scrum or wrestling on the ground.

Raz sat stunned at what he had seen since the couple had exited the house. The total familiarity with which the slave had spoken to her master and handled the children was bewildering. Now that he allowed himself to think about it, the other slave had not acted as he expected either. There seemed to be no barrier and discipline between the free and the bound. Not really wanting to air his observation, but too bothered by what was happening around him not too, he turned to the three people who were seated beside him. Francesca had curled up on the floor at her mother's feet and the older woman was absent-mindedly sifting her fingers through the inky tresses.

Clearing his throat he attempted to get the group's attention but before all eyes could turn to him, a red-topped blur flew around the house and came to a skidding halt beside Salvatore. The red head, looking flustered and agitated was dressed in sweats and clutching several pieces of paper and books in her arms. Her pretty face was scrunched into a frown as she dumped her possessions onto the patriarch's lap. Raz was unsure who this woman was- he was sure that Francesca didn't have any sisters.

"Sal, please help me! This stuff doesn't make any sense! I've been staring at the numbers for an hour and it was either come and find you or just throw it all in the pool. Right now the pool seems like a really good option!" Frustration was clear in her voice as she blew mussed hair off of her forehead. Sal reached out and pulled the young woman down to sit beside him, laying out the papers so that they could both see. Quietly they began to converse.

Darla could see that her husband was now totally engrossed in helping Megan with her business coursework and suggested to her daughter and their young visitor that they move closer to the game on the lawn. She had been watching him watching everything happening around the house, even as her daughter was focused solely on her family. Gesturing that the young man should go ahead, she stopped her daughter's forward momentum.

"Princess, I think that you need to talk to our guest." At her child's blank look she directed her attention to the young Asian man. "I think that he's probably noticed that our three 'slaves' aren't being treated in a subservient way. I think you should explain your situation to him, he is your publicist perhaps he can give it some spin."

"I never gave it a thought!" Wide blue eyes looked a little lost as she gazed at her mother.

"Well, once dinner is ready I think that you should talk to him. He seems like a very nice boy and he obviously likes you. Take a chance, Sweetie. You'll have to eventually."

"Mama, you're the best." A kiss was placed on the older woman's cheek. "You think that Dad and Meg will even notice that we've all abandoned them?" Both women cast a quick glance over their shoulders at where the one time gladiator turned full time business student sat rapt by whatever the entrepreneur was saying.

"I sincerely doubt it." Mother and daughter were both giggling at their observation as they sat on the grass beside Raz. Serious discussion could wait until the clash of the titans finished.


	6. Chapter 6

Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Francesca leaned over the edge of the bed and watched her lover perform push-ups. It was not something that she ever thought she would be captivated by but the sight of the broad back flexing was making her feel more than a little over heated. The young heiress was sprawled across the bed on her stomach, head over the edge so that she could just gaze down at the other woman in comfort.

Hunter could feel the other woman's eyes on her as she continued with her nightly ritual. When she had first been well enough to start doing her exercises regularly, she had stayed downstairs and done them alone. Once she discovered how much Chess enjoyed watching her do the simple repetitions she had moved this part of her routine to the bedroom. Today found her parallel to her side of the bed with the other woman's face right above the centre of her spine. On each upward movement she could feel the faint brush of long dark hair on her skin and it gave her tremendous comfort, though it was a little distracting. Knowing that it would soon become very distracting and lead to her routine going unfinished she started to talk to her lover.

"Hey, Chess, you never said how your talk with your publicist went? Actually you've been kinda' quiet since. Tell me all about it, pretty lady." So smooth was her voice that anybody listening from the outside would have been hard pressed to guess what she was doing.

Trailing an extremely distracting finger along the bottom edge of the blonde's sports bra she contemplated the tattoo that bordered it. From this angle the tattoo peeked out from every side. Blue eyes narrowed as she focused on the images that made up the dark mass. From a distance it just looked like a swirling black mass; up close it was an intricately woven series of patterns. Still not receiving an answer the warrior let out a light cough.

"Sorry," sighing ruefully she tucked her hands under her chin and settled more comfortably. "Well, it probably could have gone better…

\----------

The children had long since tired of soccer and were now involved in their individual pursuit. Terry stood beside Shep, doing his best to imitate the Tai chi posses taken by the larger male and not doing a bad job, his mother hoped that it might be something the nine year old kept up into adulthood. It would certainly help to hone his mind and body; he was also getting quite good at it. Rochelle, meanwhile, was playing with her dolls in the grass close to her brother, perfectly content to be on her own. Becca was cradled in Hunter's lap where the muscular woman sat on the ground, taking a well deserved nap. Smiling at the vision of family that surrounded her, Francesca realised that she was at a lose end. Letting her eyes settle on the attractive Asian man who sat beside her, she made a decision.

"Raz, would you like to have our meeting now, I think we're rather surplus to requirements." Seeing the young man nod eagerly and rise from his seat, she accepted his out stretched hand and moved with him towards the house. Catching her partner's eye she shook her head, indicating that the other woman should stay put.

Francesca led the way to her father's office and gestured for her companion to sit on the large, comfortable leather sofa. She seated herself bedside him with her back against the arm rest and legs pulled under her, she arrange her sarong artfully around her legs so as not to give the publicist a show. Watching as Rashid moved to mimic her pose she couldn't help but laugh at the incongruity of having a business meeting in your bathing suits.

"Raz, I think I need to explain a little something about what you've seen here today."

"That's not necessary Francesca, you're my client and you set the pace." That was what came out of his mouth, what he was thinking was 'tell me, tell me, tell me!'

"You know I think of you as more than just a friend, Raz." Looking at him as she spoke she realised what an attractive man he was and that she felt absolutely nothing. When she thought back to her youth and previous relations, well Doug, she had never really be physically attracted to anybody make or female, except for Rhani.

"That's really nice of you to say Francesca, I will admit to being just a little curious."

"The first thing I need is a reassurance that what you learn in this room will go no further. I like you Raz but if this gets into the press I will sue you and your firm."

"Francesca, I assure you that I keep all of my client's confidences." He was visibly affronted.

"I didn't mean to offend you Raz, it's just that this could ruin my career if it gets out unchecked. You've obviously noticed the way that my family and I interact with our… salves," Raz noticed the difficulty she had with the word. "They're not slaves; I set them free after we got Hunter back. The three that live here chose to stay; the others are roaming around with new lives."

"You're right about that being controversial, especially with 644 on the table. You can rest assured that I will keep this under wraps." Francesca's face indicated that there was more to come.

"That isn't the part that I thought would shock you, I know you're a liberal kinda' guy. Hunter is very special to my children…"

"I noticed that, it's good of you to let her play with them so casually. Rebecca really seems to have a bond with her."

"That she does, they're practically inseparable, but that isn't what I was trying to tell you. Hunter and I, we're… lovers." Silence stretched between them like a chasm.

Rashid knew that he was staring at the singer, he could feel his eyes blinking owlishly yet he couldn't feel his body. It was as though he had become detached from his body, fragmented, and was now looking down at the tableau from above. Here was a woman, who could literally buy and sell him and his entire family twice over, telling him that she chose to debase herself with an animal. Maybe he had the wrong end of the stick.

"You mean you set the other s free but keep the bodyguard as a love slave?" Please let that be it!

"No, Raz, I mean that I love her and she loves me."

"Oh."

They stayed like that for an eternity of moments, Francesca trying not to feel too disconcerted by his vacant stare. Inside, Rashid's mind was churning like a storm tossed sea. It was impossible for him to process what he had just heard. It wasn't that he was apposed to slaves being set free, it was just that… they weren't really people. As liberal and open minded as he may be, it was tantamount to marrying your dog.

Fingers began to twitch beside a bare leg, then drum on the dark skin. Mind whirling he needed an external outlet for his internal torment. Blue eyes tracked his sudden movement, intently waiting for the right moment to say more when suddenly he leapt from his chair…

\--------

Suddenly the push-ups halted mid motion, causing the other woman to stop dead in her story telling. The blonde head turned so that she could meet her partner's eyes. Instinctively the brunette ran a soothing hand over the tense back, already knowing what would be coming next.

"He didn't threaten you or…"

"No my darling he didn't threaten or hurt me. He was just shocked and a little upset."

"Well, that's understandable, you probably broke his heart! Carry on, I've got a few more of these and some stretches to do." Grinning she turned her eyes back to the floor.

Leaning down Francesca pressed a kiss to a strong shoulder before settling herself once more into her story.

\----------

"Raz, I know this is a shock…"

"A shock?" His tone was incredulous. "I'd call this more than shocking, it's disgusting! How could you have a relationship with one of them?" Clearly horrified he moved to seat himself on the desk chair, as far away from his client as possible.

"It's not as you might imagine; let me explain?" Getting no reply she ploughed on regardless.

\--------

"I told him our story, well parts of it. I hope you don't mind?"

"Chess, before our lives are over I bet you'll have to tell it a million times, don't worry."

\-------

With her explanation finished she waited for his reply. This time it wasn't so long in coming. Running a hand through his hair, Rashid chewed his lip as he pondered how to say what was on his mind.

"I don't think I can talk about this right now, Francesca. I'm a little too shocked to process it."

"That's understandable."

"I don't know if I'll ever be ready to discuss this as friends, maybe not even as your publicist. I have morals and, not wanting to offend you, I have to say that this goes against them." Not to mention that fact that you're breaking my heart! That was something that he couldn't say, especially now.

"If that becomes an issue Raz, them we'll cross that bridge." Truly saddened by her friend's reaction she knew that they had pressing business to deal with. "My album launch…"

\----------

"It was really strained after that but he managed to b professional and we had a really productive meeting." A sad little whimper escaped as she said this and Hunter knew that she would have to comfort the other woman later. For now she continued to do her stretches in front of the bed.

During the end of her account Francesca had moved to prop herself at the head of the bed so that she could continue to watch her lover move. The bodyguard had finished her push ups and moved into her stretches which she performed at the foot of the bed. As the shorter woman moved her statuesque companion watched the muscles dance under her skin. She was mesmerized and still the warrior had her back to her.

"What did you two plan for your promoting?"

"I already have several promos lined up and the dates will be here tomorrow so that you can organise security. I will be having a coupe of photo shoots for the album cover and artwork in the next two weeks and he and Jake thought that I should start shooting the videos for the first two singles as soon as possible." Tone much brighter, Hunter new that she had steered the conversation into much calmer waters.

"How soon is soon?"

"Three days."

"That shouldn't be a problem. Will that choreographer guy be coming over?" Exercises all but complete she began to wind up.

"I thought we could go to his studio, he has better facilities." She was really trying to keep her mind on the conversation but the sight in front of her had brought her thoughts to a grinding halt.

In front of the bed the muscular woman had stopped her routine and was now reaching for the hem of her sports bra. As she drew it over her head and threw it casually into the laundry basket, she still didn't turn around. Francesca was certain that she was being toyed with and she was more than happy to go along with the game of seduction. Seeing that the other woman was now only clad in her sweats which hung low, revealing her hips and the tops of her buttocks the brunette found herself compelled to move forward.

Hunter could hear the other woman crawling across the surface of the bed, as he stood still, flexing the occasional muscle. It was easy to tell that the other woman was crawling as she could hear the alluring slide of fabric and skin. Feet softly hit the carpeted floor behind her and she could suddenly feel hot breath on her neck.

Using more self control than she knew she possessed the heiress did not pounce on her partner as she had planned, instead she chose to continue her perusal of the other woman. Blue eyes were once again drawn to the tattoo that covered a large portion of her torso. Tracing the intricate patterns of hunting animals, scribed into her skin to ape her name, first with her eyes and then with her fingers, she could feel the raw power trembling beneath the surface. A thrill ran through her at wielding this sort of power over her lover. It was a power that one can only wield with utter love and utter trust.

More than well aware that neither woman could continue this much longer, the taller woman lowered her head and began to trace the black patterns with her tongue. The taste of the other woman's warm skin was intoxicating. She had never liked it when Doug would sweat from exercise and would always make him shower before coming near her, but something about Hunters natural taste and smell acted like an aphrodisiac. Swiping another path across taut muscle she was startled as the other woman spun around and grabbed her by the waist, pressing their bodies tightly together.

Drawn into an intense kiss, lips and tongues fighting for dominance, the singer barely noticed herself being guided to the bathroom. Only the sound of the shower starting to run gave her any idea where they were. As the kiss ended both women were panting for breath, Francesca grinning inanely.

"Join me?" It wasn't a question that the ex-slave had to ask twice.

Even as she pushed down her sweats and pants in one smooth move and stepped under the spray, hair instantly plastering to her head, the brunette was stripping out of her pyjamas. Holding out a calloused hand the blonde pulled her lover to her under the water where another passionate kiss was born.

Long fingered hands curled around rock hard biceps as Francesca pulled away from the kiss. She studied that body part and the way the water ran over the images, blurring them and making them indistinct. The animals almost seemed to be moving under the torrent, wanting to see more clearly she began to lick the rivulets of water off of them. Hunter began to feel weak from all the attention and she knew that she needed more.

"Chess!" It came out as a plea and a command rolled into one.

Not needing any further prompting Francesca began slide down the compact body, fingers and tongue tracing her path. As she came to the apex of strong thighs she looked up and locked eyes with her lover.

"Please Chess, I need you now!" That was all it took for the brunette to reach out her tongue and taste her partner, hearing the excited hiss that accompanied her motions. Tattoos are sooo sexy! It was her last coherent thought that night.


	7. Chapter 7

Light flickered from the television screen, sending patterns of shadow throughout the dark room. Lying with her head propped up, the pale haired woman was able to watch the screen without disturbing her bed mate. The taller woman lay, curled on her side, with her head resting on the muscular woman's chest, dark hair fanning over tanned skin. Soft puffs of air blew over a bare chest reassuring her that her lover was sleeping even as she ran one hand lightly over the silky tresses.

Subtitles scrolled across the bottom of the screen, telling her what she could not hear with the sound off. If this was to be the new pattern of their nights, with her awake but in the bed for most of it, she knew that her mind would have to be kept busy. The only thing that Francesca had asked was that she stay with her for as much of the night as she could. Fortunately, the TV in the bedroom received cable and she was fascinated by the documentary based stations. Learning more and more each night would be a real treat and if she was honest, it was helping her to feel like more of an intellectual equal to her lover. She could read books, but that would mean turning on a much brighter light which might disturb her partner.

On the nightstand the digital display of the alarm showed 5am, only half an hour before the pair would have to be up for the video shoot. Seeing that the programme on Julius Caesar was drawing to an end, she began to flick through the channels with the remote held in her free hand. Finally landing on a news broadcast, she took in the details of what the day might hold.

Francesca could feel herself swimming up from the depths of slumber. As she gradually became more aware of her surroundings she could feel the strong beat of her partner's heart beneath her ear and let it pull her closer and closer to wakefulness. Through eyelids that remained closed she cloud make out the flickering light in the room. Suddenly her human pillow shot into a sitting position on the bed, causing blue eyes to snap open and blink with confusion.

"What's going on?" Slurred by sleep the words were indistinct but her companion understood.

"I know that woman." The hand holding the remote gestured towards the screen while turning the volume up.

A press conference was playing out in front of them. A large, handsome man was taking a podium for a press conference. To his right stood a much shorter man and to his left was a slender blond in a dark suit. The woman was unmistakably a bodyguard and a slave if the collar around her neck was any indication.

"The blonde?" The brunette now sounded much more alert as she narrowed her eyes at the moving images.

"Yes, she was in our stable, we fought together a lot. If you'd ever watched the gladiatorial bouts you would recognise her. She's called Thorn, I don't know her real name. She was my nemesis in the ring but we got along great outside it." Blue eyes looked doubtful.

"People honestly believed that that skinny little thing could kick your ass?"

"Actually, she could. She really could; she may look fragile but that girl is insane. She fights like a thing possessed. She was for sale at the same time as the rest of us, I heard your father and brothers debate about whether to get her or not. It was her fragile grasp on reality that stopped them. Imagine you could have been saddled with her and not me."

"Well then, I'm glad she's a loon." Cuddling together both women continued to watch the broadcast. "So that's Bradley Dettore; I've heard he's trouble."

"In what way?"

As if to answer her question a journalist asked the man on the podium about his stance on slavery. Coming alive before his audience, both inside the room and in television land, he began to talk on his favourite subject.

\-----------

"I'm very glad you asked me about that. As you know I am a firm supporter of 644. I feel very strongly that slaves are property and should be treated as such. If you owned a zoo, would you decide to release a wolf or bear into the city, just because you like the way it behaves? Of course not, that would be ridiculous. Releasing slaves into the general population is the same thing.

I've said it before and I will say it again, ladies and gentlemen, slaves are unstable and not subject to the same thought processes as the rest of us. Recent events here and in other cities are showing that to us on a weekly basis. We have them terrorising neighbourhoods, killing the free and their supporters blowing things up. To me this is not an indication that these creatures should walk among us, rather it is proof positive that they need to be kept in servitude.

I would like to say that I do believe in the buying and selling of slaves. They provide several vital functions which would not be filled by normal employment. They also help to reduce violent crime by allowing people to vent their frustrations at the arenas. As you can see," here he held his arm out to indicate Thorn, "I myself own a bodyguard and have done for over a year. We need to use these resources."

"Mr Dettore, how would you tackle the problem of those slaves that have already been emancipated by their owners?" The question came from a man in the second row.

"I am glad you asked. That would be remedied by simply initiating a nation wide crack down. Police would have the authority to enter homes and recapture the slaves. This would be perfectly legal if the emancipation rights were to be repealed. Naturally some people will baulk at these measures but I feel it is the only way to keep our streets safe for our families."

\-------------

The questions moved to another topic as the pair sitting on the bed sat in shocked silence. That anyone could believe so vehemently in the subjugation of others amazed hem both. What shocked, and scared, them both was the idea that if this man or any other zealot got into the senate they would once again be torn apart. Francesca couldn't allow herself to think about the implications and instead chose to focus on her day's itinerary.

"Where are you going?" The voice followed her as she got up from the bed.

"I'm going to go and take a shower and throw on some sweats for the shoot, they can make me beautiful when I get there."

"You're always beautiful." The words from the bed were so heartfelt that she found herself moving back to the bed and pressing a gentle kiss to the top of the smaller woman's head.

"You little charmer, you can go and get some breakfast and do your morning routine. We need to be gone by 7. Now scoot!" She ruffled the blonde hair before turning back to the bathroom.

Turning on the faucet she held her hand under the water to test the temperature. Satisfied, she moved into the spray. One of the many perks of sleeping naked after a night of passion was not having to undress. Under the warm caress of the water Francesca allowed her mind to fall into a meditative state, not thinking about anything in particular, especially not what she had seen on the news.

*******

Hunter sat in the kitchen, chatting animatedly with the families cook. The middle aged Frenchman was new to the house, having only arrived a few months ago, and had settled in quickly. Hunter really liked Marcel; he was friendly and fun to talk to. At times his accent was a little too thick to understand but she was hoping to convince him to teach her the language of love. She really wanted to surprise the heiress with that in the bedroom.

"So, little warrior, what do you think the young lady of the house would like for breakfast?" White hat bobbing on his head the older man looked comical as he bustled around the kitchen preparing for the day.

"I hope you don't refer to Mrs Prince as the old lady of the house." They both laughed, Marcel poking his tongue out at the seated woman. "I think that she should have something light today, she didn't say anything but I'm sure she is a little nervous."

"How about a bagel, cream cheese and a little fruit?"

"Add a cup of coffee to that and you'll be onto a winner." As she spoke she was running a finger around the collar of her shirt, never entirely comfortable in this sort of attire.

"You look like a child forced into a school uniform, stop fidgeting! What do you want to eat?" He was already preparing the heiresses meal.

"I have to look the part, like it or not. I wouldn't min a bagel."

"You, girl, need more than just a bagel to keep that body going. I will make you a sack of pancakes; you have plenty of time yet." The set of his face said that he would not be taking no for an answer.

By the time the pancakes were ready, Francesca was making her way into the kitchen. She greeted the chef with a smile and sat down to her breakfast. The couple smiled at each other as they tucked into their very different repasts.

Marcel watched them eat and bask in each others company. He had not been surprised when the family had revealed the nature of their relationship to him, it was as clear as day to anybody who looked that these two were in love. He would never reveal their secret, he liked h family too much, and he had signed a gag order when he took the job. He couldn't afford to loose his employment under those of circumstances, he would never work again. Deciding to make himself scarce, he moved to the pantry and started to prepare for the day in earnest.

"Are you looking forward to today, Chess?" It was said around a mouthful of food.

"That's disgusting, Rhani!" In response a tongue, liberally coated in partially masticated food was thrust out at her. "Oh, that's really mature! To answer your question; yes I am looking forward to the shoot. It's been a long time since I made a video and I've never done one without Doug breathing down my neck before."

"I'll look forward to watching you, the videos I've seen on cable all look really exciting."

"You'll be bored out of your mind, my darling." Reaching out a long fingered arm she gave the other woman's forearm a squeeze.

"I'll just have to watch you dancing around and think about how sexy you are. Is your publicist going to be there?" It wasn't really a question. The older woman had been referring to the young man like that since she heard about his reaction.

"Yes he will. You just need to ignore him, he's a professional and so am I. Things will be fine." Buzzing filled the air as she finished.

"The car's waiting." Hunter as looking down at the pager clipped to her waist.

Arm in arm they made their way to the car.

*********

Rashid met the pair outside the studio. He approached them tentatively as they exited the car, not sure what to say but knowing that he had to say something. He kept his distance, watching as first the burly warrior emerged, followed closely by the casually dressed starlet. Suddenly rooted to the spot he could do nothing but watch as they got closer and closer, he knew that he was acting irrationally but he just couldn't seem to shake himself out of it.

"Hello Rashid," loath to make eye contact she looked somewhere beyond his shoulder.

"Francesca; Tomasz will be directing you today. He looked at your ideas and has designed some strong visuals. He wants to go through the blocking with you before you go into hair and make-up. I envision the shoot taking a few days, it's quite complex." Staying professional if not friendly, he led the two women into the building.

As the trio walked onto the lot and towards the soundstage, Francesca was safely ensconced between the two. Tension flowed between them, coming off of both her lover and her publicist in equal measure. She knew that hunter was simply worried that the young man would further upset her; reading him was more difficult. It was hard to understand such a visceral reaction to slaves. Then again, was I much better when Hunter came into my life?

"Darling, so good to see you again! You look fabulous!" Walking through the heavy doors of the studio they were immediately intercepted by a flamboyantly dressed man with a strong Eastern European accent.

"Tomasz!" They shared an air-kiss as they briefly embraced, he turned Rashid and repeated the process. Beside them Hunter was not sure what to make of the colourful man.

"Who is your friend? She looks most familiar." Grey eyes narrowed as he studied her face.

"This is my bodyguard, Hunter."

"Ah, you are the Hunter, yes?" There was clear recognition and respect in his voice.

"You read about the kidnapping in the papers?" The foursome were now walking towards the main part of the studio, Hunter had fallen behind, allowing the business trio to precede her.

"Of course I read the news, Darling, but I know her from her sport." Seeing the clearly puzzled look that the young woman cast his way, he flicked his own gaze to the warrior who looked quite sheepish. "This, my dear, is the most famous Gladiator of the last eight years! My son has all of her bouts and TV spots on disc!"

"Really?"

"Tomasz is right. She looked really familiar when I was at your home the other day but I couldn't really place it. Then I went to visit my brother; he's got pictures of her everywhere, she's almost as famous as you in some circles." Keeping his tone light, he couldn't help but be a little pleased that the brunette appeared perturbed.

"Well, children, as interesting as this is we have work to do," clapping his hands he alerted his staff to his presence. "Let's get to it, Francesca if you'll come with me I will show you what we have planned before you go to hair and makeup." Taking the outstretched hand she allowed herself to be towed away, leaving her two companions in an uneasy silence.

Watching her lover in her element, moving around the director with a self assured grace, the blonde felt immeasurably proud of her. It was good to see her come alive. Naturally she was always full of energy and vitality at home yet in public she always seemed reserved as though she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Here it was different, it wasn't the same energy that she had at home, it was more raw and dangerous. Hearing the man beside her shift his feet, she turned her eyes towards him, satisfied that her charge was safe.

"Mr Dariwal, you shouldn't feel threatened by me or our relationship."

"I am not intimidated!" Growling he defiantly held her eye, pleased that they were far enough away from the hustle and bustle of the studio not to be heard.

"Sure you are. I saw you looking at her at the restaurant and the house. I may only be a lowly animal in your eyes, sir, but for my sport I had to learn how to read people. You had a crush on her, it was as clear as the nose on your face, and who can blame you?"

"Fine, so you understand a tiny part of my psyche." Crossing his arms over his chest he had the uncomfortable feeling that he was under a microscope.

"I'm not the reason that you can't have her. She is. Maybe if things had been different, if you had met her before Mr Rose… I don't know. All I do know is that right here, right now; even if I never existed she wouldn't be yours." Her voice was s sure.

"You honestly believe that?"

"Yes." It was that simple.

"Then I suppose I'm going to have to get used to you being around.

"That you are, sir. Fran…" Seeing a crew member getting awfully close she stopped mid word. "Miss Prince said that you also had moral considerations. We're not going to flaunt this in your face; wouldn't it be a shame to loose a fried over this?" Holding his eyes for a moment she left him with those words, making her way over to the taller woman who sat having her make-up applied.

Standing beside the counter which hosted a huge variety of pots, tubs and sticks of every colour she was able to stay out of the way while still looking at her partner. It was fascinating to watch the attractive young make-up artist apply the theatrical and exaggerated coating onto her face. Having seen the younger woman make herself up countless times, this was quite a novelty.

"I saw you talking to Rashid." The words were forced out through barely moving lip.

"Mr Dariwal and I were discussing recent developments. I feel that he may be considering a new perspective."

"Thank you Hunter, I'm glad you took the time to make my position clear." Finally finished being painted like a doll it was time to be dressed like a mannequin. Hunter followed her to the enclosed area of the set like a well mannered dog, carefully maintaining their façade.

********

Cliff sat sprawled on his couch, arms spread across the back, legs akimbo, clothed only in a towel. The white terry cloth was cinched at his waist and left more of his legs exposed than it covered. He could hear the shower running in the other room as he flicked through channels on the television. Usually his conquests wouldn't be allowed to use his things but today was different.

Hearing the water stop he waited patiently for the young woman to emerge. It had been a good night, better than most, perhaps because she was not his usual flavour? He couldn't be sure but he knew that he would do it again. Breaking him from his thoughts, the door of the bathroom was tentatively pushed open and a auburn haired woman came out. Clearly embarrassed she hurried to the door, never looking up.

"Good night Daphne." She mumbled something so low that he couldn't make it out. "Don't forget to say hello to Lawrence for me." Startled eyes snapped up to meet his. "Oh, I won't tell your husband… yet. I'll see you tomorrow at the office. Off you go." Without a second glance she was dismissed. He heard her rush from the room, barely taking the time to close the door.

Relaxing further into the comfort of the leather sofa he contemplated his evening. He didn't usually partake in the pleasures of married women, preferring to take his pleasure from more reliable sources, but when opportunity knocks, only a foolish man ignores it. The red head was gorgeous and she had left herself open to his advances. The silly girl should really not try to steal his company's money if she didn't want to suffer the consequences. When faced with jail or a night with him, she had made the wisest choice.

Lighting a cigarette from the packet on the end table he took a drag just as the phone began to ring. Reaching over he put the phone on speaker before turning the TV to mute.

"This is Cliff Walsh."

"Cliff!" The voice on eh end of the line was unmistakable and the slender man's face light up with a sinister grin.

"Hello Bradley, what do you need at…" glancing at his watch, "one in the morning?"

"I was running over tomorrow's speech and needed your opinion on how I should field questions on 644? I don't want to sound like some sort of zealot or fanatic and I'm afraid it might come across that way. "

"You don't like the speech?" Shit, this wasn't how it worked!

"No Cliff, not at all. It's the panel section. Somebody is bound to ask why I feel so strongly about the proposition." The towel clad man was now leaning forward, cigarette hanging between his legs as he tried to think of a new angle. Then it hit him …and the truth shall set us free.

"Bradley, why not just tell them the truth? Sooner or later some journalist is going to look into your past and it'll be out anyway. Why not beat them to the punch?"

"You don't think that'll damage my stance? "

"It could backfire, certainly, however I think it is more likely to give a real face to your concern."

"I'll think about it, thanks Cliff. "

"No problem, you need to get some sleep!"

"And you, good night. "

Hearing the phone hang up he stubbed out his little smoked cigarette he pushed the off button on the phone and put the television on stand-by. Following his own advice he moved towards his own bedroom, dropping his towel as he went. Thinking about his conversation a smile came to his face. He laid on the bed and ran through his plans, even as sleep tried to claim him.

Cliff was not a popular or charismatic man and never had been, but he was smart and cunning. He had political aspirations and knew exactly how to reach them. He was fortunate that when he was just a boy, twelve years old, Bradley Dettore had come into his family and into his life. The other boy was handsome, vivacious and almost as smart as he was, yet he lacked the other boys cunning. Together they were formidable. Although it would seem that they were equal partners to an outsider and even to Bradley, Cliff knew better. He was pulling the strings while his friend remained totally unaware. He had a destiny and he was hell bent on fulfilling it.

********

Fists rained down on the prone body, turning flesh and bone into nothing but bloody pulp. Simply walking down the alleyway, a shortcut to his motel, he had been completely unprepared for what was to follow. No amount of strength or training could save you from ten men or more, hell bent on your destruction. The mob had descended on him so fast that he had barely got a lick in.

When it was over he lay within a pool of his own blood, eyes swollen shut and skull little more than a swollen mass. As the men walked away he could hear heir laughing from what seemed like very far away. They taunted him; called him a slave, a runaway and he didn't have the strength to refute their accusations. Then they were gone… or was he just unable to hear now?

I didn't even win the jackpot!

It was his last thought.


	8. Chapter 8

Making a video was...interesting, Hunter decided after yet another scantily clad young woman breezed by. It wasn't that she was ogling them, but everywhere she looked it was just there! Not that the presence of semi-naked girls meant that the production was a purely 'bump 'n' grind' affair; it had a plot and on screen all of them would be fully clothed. It was the changes between takes that were so titillating. Watching Francesca in these moments was much more difficult, her changes were more frequent and she was always crowded into her trailer and surrounded by a horde of people.

Turning her thoughts away from the hustle and bustle back stage, she looked instead at the set itself. In truth she had been quite impressed with the whole set up. The concept, built around the singer's new track 'Revive', put her in the role of a jewel thief out to steal a huge diamond as ransom for her daughter - held captive by a mob boss. Ultimately after stunts, a bit of seduction and a rap segment by the 'boss' she would prevail. The guy playing the other character and featuring on the album was a rapper called Joi Joi Man (Hunter had found it hysterical that his real name was Mungo) who proved to be a great rapper and competent actor. He and the gladiator had hit it off straight away.

The next, and final, take of the day was to be a confrontation between Francesca's character and two henchmen. Hunter had been riveted by Francesca's athleticism, not realising just how powerful and graceful she was. Of course, she had always been aware of the other woman's grace, having watched her work with her choreographer more than once, but seeing her fight, even if only in fun, had a strange impact on the warrior; something primal and long forgotten stirred inside her. Once again trying to disperse the unsettling feeling, hunter realised that the eccentrically flamboyant director was beckoning her over. She moved towards him, noticing that he in turn was moving, towards Francesca, who had just emerged from the costume trailer.

'Francesca, darling, I have had the most fantastic idea!' his effusive hand gestures made the brunette roll her eyes at her lover. 'We could use your Hunter in the video! Why have two unknown stuntmen when we could have her?'

'Tomasz, would people really be interested?' Curiosity thoroughly piqued, she wanted to know more about her lovers past. Other than some passing comments about her prominence on the fighting scene, Hunter was quite close lipped on that score. Unbeknownst to either party the subject of their conversation was beginning to feel the crawling finger of terror running up her spine.

'By putting your little pet,' at the words the songstress actually flinched, 'into the promo we could draw a whole new demographic to your music!'

'Come on Tomasz, I know you and Raz said that Hunter was 'famous' but, honestly, how famous could she be? Nobody's ever approached her for an autograph...' Raucous laughter stopped her in her tracks as the European doubled over with mirth, she raised an eyebrow in consternation and waited for him to finish.

'I'm sorry, my dear, it's just that I find it ironic that you own one of the worlds most well known slaves yet have no idea of slave etiquette.' Seeing the puzzled look on her face he chose to elaborate, all the while aware that the subject of their conversation was standing stoically behind him. 'The free do not chase the indentured; do not scream their names or hunt for autographs. It's like watching...' here he searched for an analogy, 'Lassie. You might think the dog is well trained but you wouldn't want it to sign yr ass; and like the dog, most slaves can't write.' He noticed the singer bristle at his dog comment and chanced a glance behind him at the slave, who remained impassive. 'So, what do you say?' He swiftly got back to his original point.

Blue eyes shifted to focus on the blond, over Tomasz's shoulder. If he noticed the path of her gaze he made no comment, simply waiting for a response. Intently she studied hooded green eyes as she mulled over the idea. Even as she was going through the pros and cons, Hunter was bracing herself for what was to some, sure she wouldn't like it. Scrutinising the older woman she noticed the fine sheen of sweat at her forehead and the obvious, well obvious to me, she mused, panic in the constantly shifting eyes. What troubles you so about this, my love? The sight of the other woman's stark vulnerability made her decision for her.

'Tomasz, I think that sounds like an excellent idea,' Hunter physically deflated at the words, collapsing in on herself, 'but I would rather Hunter concentrate on her role as my protector, rather than something you've concocted.' She barely heard his disappointed acceptance, dimly aware that she only had minutes before she would film the next scene; she was too busy watching her lover. As Tomasz scampered off, Francesca took the opportunity to grasp the blonde's forearm and pull her inside the nearby trailer.

When she had given the director her response she had seen Hunter's face lighten, like the sun appearing from behind a cloud. She had known then that she needed to spend what time she could alone with her partner. Once safely inside the empty trailer she latched the door behind them to ensure a measure of privacy. Turning back to her bemused partner she reached up and ran the backs of her fingers over a soft cheek. Hunter leaned gratefully into the touch, mind still reeling from the conversation outside.

'You OK, Rhani?' Blue eyes were soft as she turned her hand to hold the smaller woman's jaw in her palm.

'Thank you,' it was barely a whisper as she let herself sag into the cupped hand.

'How could I do something you wouldn't want? You're a free woman now, sweetheart. We make decisions together, not for each other.' She leaned down to rest her forehead against the shorter woman's. 'I saw how troubled you were by Tomasz's idea and I want to know why,' they locked eyes, 'but not now. It can wait till tonight. Right now I think you could use this more than an inquisition.' She drew the other woman's face up and brought their lip together in a tender kiss, hands tangling in short hair as strong fingers made to clasp her own hips.

Francesca parted her lips in a moan and the woman caressing her hips took the invitation and entered her warm mouth with a questing tongue. Soon the kiss escalated in intensity and, if not for the sudden, frantic, pounding on the door which shook the thin aluminium, it would have moved far beyond simple kisses. Reluctantly pulling apart they helped to straighten each others clothes out, the brunette reaching out to wipe a smear of lipstick from her lover's mouth. Sharing a parting smile, Francesca followed a harassed looking young man onto the set.

Running a towel through freshly washed hair she roughly dislodged the worst of the clinging water. Finally satisfied that she would not drip all over the house she balled up the soaked towel and threw it into the bathroom hamper and picked up her comb from the vanity. With an economy of motion she swiftly ran the comb through inky tresses, smoothing it away from her face, letting it fall in an onyx cascade down her back. Pulling on a huge T-shirt, emblazoned with the smiling face of a cartoon character, which fell to mid thigh and a pair of panties, she strolled into the bedroom.

Looking around the spacious sleeping quarters that she shared with her partner she was surprised to see it empty. There was no sign of the bodyguard anywhere. Making the decision to go in search of her, blue eyes lit on the clock pleased to see that it was still relatively early. Leaving the room she first took a quick peek into her children's rooms, happy to see all three of them were sleeping peacefully. It was still only an hour after they were tucked it and she hoped that the rest of the night would be nightmare free.

Continuing down the hall she quickly checked the study just to make sure that the other woman wasn't there. Standing briefly beside the window to admire the beautifully designed grounds that stretched before her, illuminated by the waning summer sun, she heard a faint clanging sound. Grinning at this new found knowledge she headed down the stairs and out of the house, towards the back patio. Fortunately the night was balmy and she was more than warm enough in her skimpy attire. Bare feet slapping on the smooth stone floor she made her way to the corner of the house and peered around, suddenly transfixed by what she saw.

At the back of the house, just beyond the sun loungers, several pieces of gym equipment had been placed. Much of it was still kept in the courtyard of the stables but when work had started on the damaged portion of the mansion, destroyed in the bombing, her father had decided to go ahead and extend this area. Standing and watching, Francesca was very glad he had.

There, on the couch of the bench press lay Hunter. Her legs splayed feet planted firmly on the floor and back pushed firmly into the leather covered foam of the bench. Arms shoulder width apart and pistoning up and down in sure, steady strokes; she lifted the bar and its weights with ease. It was clear to her admirer that she had been at this since she went into the shower as her pale grey tank top was stained almost black with sweat. Her hair was plastered to her forehead, and her cheeks were ruddy.

Noticing the beads of perspiration on toned forearms, tendons stark against the skin with each upward thrust, she found herself tracking its path down her arm and into the fabric at her shoulder. Eyes focused on the erotic display of flexing muscles and sweat as she remembered the first time she has watched the gladiator perform this exact same exercise.

It had been in the early days of their re-acquaintance, when she had been drawn to and repulsed by the warrior in equal measure. She remembered how she had watched the flex and play of flesh and muscle, unsure and uncomfortable then about her feelings towards the blond. No such doubt held her back now. Throwing off her revelry she continued towards her very tempting destination. The slapping of feet on concrete alerted her prey to her approach, making the bodyguard grin, yet show no other sign that she knew of her impending visit. She would let her lover play this out; she knew how much the singer loved to play.

A hand was soon splayed against the moist skin of her abdomen, gently caressing the rippled flesh of her well defined abs. Seeing no discernable reaction from the focused athlete, she decided to up the anti and scratch a path down the exposed stomach, dipping into her navel. Rewarded with a slight shiver but no verbal sign she finally did what she had wanted to since the first time she witnessed this. Lifting one long, perfect leg she straddled the bench, and her lover, settling her weight onto the taut muscle. As she settled in place, feet on the floor supporting some of her mass, the barbell came to a sudden halt, poised part way between the cradle and Hunter's chest.

'Chess, that is really distracting.' Hunter tried to sound peeved yet only succeeded in sounding bemused.

For her part, Francesca barely heard what her lover said, so distracted was she by her own actions. Straddling her protector like this had seemed the perfect was to drive her to distraction, she hadn't quite realised how deeply she, herself, would be affected. The second her naked thighs made contact with sweat slicked skin she lost her concentration. Her panties were fast becoming a sodden mass, absorbing her lover's sweat from below and her arousal from within. Realising that her love was waiting for some sort of response she made what she hoped was an intelligible answer. Unfortunately for her all Hunter heard was a very sexy groan.

Rising up, Hunter racked the apparatus and leaned up to look into her lover's face. The vision that greeted her was Francesca, head thrown back and eyes shuttered as she began to grind into the body beneath her. Long fingered, perfectly manicured hands roamed her own body, one reaching under the baggy shirt and cupping her breast, revealing a wide expanse of tanned skin exposed. Licking suddenly dry lips, the warrior reached out and clasped the goddess before her by the hips. Drawing herself up, she brought them chest-to-chest. Dazed blue eyes suddenly focused on the angelic face that was now only inches from her own, blinking owlishly.

'You've stopped?' Genuine confusion laced her voice.

'Yes, Chess, I've stopped. I thought you and I could have a different sort of workout.' Having thought that she was being rather sexy the blond was disconcerted to see a pout forming on aquiline features. 'Or not.'

Hearing the disappointment in her partner's voice broke Francesca out of her sensual haze. Drawing her hand out from her shirt she reached up to trace Hunter's furrowed brow, causing green eyes to lock with blue. Leaning in she pressed a kiss to a flushed cheek before finally settling both hands on strong, tattooed shoulders.

'Sorry, I got a little rapped up in my fantasy.' Receiving a sardonic 'really' in reply she smirked and pushed on. 'As much as I would love to follow your suggestion, Rhani, I sort of had my own plan.'

'Oh?' The hands massaging her shoulders were slowly drifting towards her breasts. 'Do tell?'

'Well, ever since the first time I watched you do this I've always wanted to touch you. To run my hands over your glistening skin while you strain under that bar.' Smiling slightly she confessed, 'That first time, I couldn't tear my eyes away from the beads of sweat on your skin and I had no idea why! I didn't even like you at the time.' Seductively a finger found its way under damp, grey Lycra. 'So, do you want to help me live out my fantasy?'

'Um, Chess,' she swallowed convulsively, trying to calm her raging hormones, 'you know, that sounds fantastic but somebody could walk out on us.'

'Don't worry about that; mother and father are at that charity event with the boys. The children are fast asleep and the place is locked up like a fortress. I'm sure Megan and Shep have better things to do than come looking for us,' well I hope they do, 'so why not relax and let go?' She could see the older woman's resolve crumbling.

'And if the kids wake up?'

'And if the children wake up that's why we now have a very well paid nanny who does very little. She's just down the hall from them and won't bother us unless it's an emergency.'

'You're sure she's ok with them?' This was a conversation they had shared several times since Francesca made the decision that she needed a nanny, and she wasn't about to get into it again.

'Yes, Hunter, I'm sure Delores, our very well qualified nanny will be able to get Rochel a glass of water.' An elegant eyebrow rose, 'you know, you're really killing the mood?' Hunter had to agree, the sweat was cooling on her skin and she was beginning to feel sticky. Noticing that the sun had completely lost its battle and night had fallen around them, leaving the fluorescent deck lights to hold court during their debate, the warrior finally gave in.

'You win!'

'Yay me! I always get the best prizes.' She clapped her hands in glee. 'On your back woman; get pumping!'

'Sweetie?' The brunette halted in her efforts to force the much more powerful woman onto her back. 'Could I take some of the weight off? I won't exactly have my full attention on it. I promise that you won't know the difference!' Reluctantly the singer moved off of her lap and watched as she efficiently removed two of the smaller disks from each end of the bar. As the blond bent to place them back in the rack, Francesca surreptitiously shimmied out of her panties and kicked them away.

Hunter moved back to the bench and resumed her earlier position under the bar. Knowing that her lover wouldn't settle back onto her stomach just yet, she made a show of gripping the bar and hefting it down for the first time. With practiced ease she began to perform reps, feeling her body strain and relax in a familiar routine. As she finished her first set, placing the bar back in its cradle, she raised her head, fixing her mesmerised partner with an inviting stare. Not needing further encouragement the lithe figure slithered up her partner's body to once again straddle the firm abdomen.

Hunter's eyes snapped open as she felt the liquid heat of her lover's arousal slide against her skin. Determined to bring the fantasy to life she began to work the bar more forcefully, hearing a gasp of pleasure as her abs clenched together, lending her greater power. As she moved she could feel Francesca begin a steady rocking above her and slender fingers trailing over her own skin.

Feeling the arousal burning through her in waves, the singer knew that it wouldn't be long before she crashed upon the shore. Leaning forward as she continued to undulate back and forth, she ran her fingers up and under the bottom of her lover's top, pushing it over her breasts. Revealed to the cool air her nipples were instantly erect. Beginning to regret this idea, Francesca knew she couldn't take one in her mouth as she would end up brained by the heavy bar. Pulling back slightly she saw that Hunter was racking the bar in order to relax a little before another set. Pouncing on the opportunity revealed to her she slid forward, under the bar, until her face hovered over the blonde's.

'Yes?' It was drawled as strong hands slid over her shirt and under the hem.

'Change of plans.' Panted breaths increased in tempo as a calloused hand dipped between them to tease her painfully ready clit.

Lips clashed together in a heated kiss, tongues duelling between mouths as blunt fingers entered the heiress. Feeling her lover close to the edge she pumped hard and fast, feeling hands tightening on her biceps. Finally ripping her lips from the woman under her Francesca let out a scream of pleasure as she climaxed; jerking back in the throes of ecstasy her head slammed into the bar. Seeing stars the younger woman tumbled sideways onto the floor.

Laying there, stupefied, she found the concerned face of the warrior hovering over her. Smiling ruefully, head beginning to throb dully, she croaked out, 'Maybe I should let you take me to bed?' Strong arms scooped her up effortlessly and soon she was being carried into the house.

'Can you believe the nerve of that man?' Darla could feel her blood boil.

'I know, darlin', but you won't win over the likes of him. He gives at events like this and really does think that is enough.' Salvatore steered his wife to a corner where there eldest son stood, clutching a champagne flute.

Studying Nathaniel as they drew closer, all the while listening to his wife's rant, he couldn't help but feel a little sad for his eldest child. Nate had always been the quietest of the three, studious and earnest in equal measure. He took so much responsibility for what happened in both his business and personal life that his father often feared that he would burn himself out. Comfortable in the boardroom and known to be a shrewd and dangerous man to cross, he floundered in social settings. Both Francesca and Rodrigo were such vibrant, friendly people that others expected the same from Nate, making him feel further isolated. His failed marriage had driven home to him that family were the only people who really understood him.

As though conjured up by his father's musings, Rodrigo came barrelling through the crowd; joining his parents as they finally reached his brother. Dressed similarly to the older men in a tuxedo, the playboy managed to look fashionably rumpled. Composing himself while the greetings were made around him, he began to relate what he had heard.

'You're not going to believe what I just heard!' He was clearly indignant, bordering on outright hostility.

'What could be that bad son?' Just like his mother! 'You know these things are always full of bluster.' He tried to avoid the incredulous look directed at him by his wife.

'That ass Dettore is here; he's in the other room spouting his anti slave bullshit! People are in there lapping it up!' Seething now, 'his new idea? Revoke emancipation! Take away people's liberty for a second time! If he gets into office he plans to round people up like animals. Their children...' his voice had been steadily rising, attracting more than a little unwanted attention.

'Alright boy,' Sal placed his hand on a tense shoulder, 'calm down. This is, indeed, troubling news but we can't let people know we have an issue.'

'Your father's right, Roddie, settle down. I think that we should leave fairly soon, the girls need to know about this.' She turned to her taciturn child. 'Nate, sweetheart, would you go and collect our coats and call the chauffer?' He visibly sagged in relief that they were on their way.

'Thanks mom,' leaning over he placed a kiss on her cheek before putting a large hand on his baby brother's shoulder. 'Come on, kid, you can help.' As they walked away he muttered darkly, 'we won't let her get hurt again, Rod, don't worry.'

Watching their children walk away, mostly unmolested by other revellers, Sal knew that he and Darla would have a longer road to home. Unlike his wife, he generally enjoyed these functions. A pragmatist at heart, he saw the irony of the lamenting figures who gave so little to the charities they professed to support. Usually few people could rile him but his son's news had shaken him to the core. Francesca would be broken beyond repair if Hunter was taken from her again and he just couldn't let that happen.

'Are you ready?' He directed his stormy gaze to his wife who looked equally troubled.

'Not just yet, Sal. I think we should go and introduce ourselves to Mr Dettore and his supporters. Find out the lay of the land.' He couldn't argue with her logic so he followed her towards the busy side room.

Bradley Dettore stood tall beside the fireplace, hand swirling a glass of brandy. By all appearances he was the epitome of a rich young bachelor, a father's dream fro his daughter. Unfortunately in Sal's case he was a nightmare. He watched a middle aged, paunchy, woman engage him in conversation, gushing over his every word. Moving towards the politician, Darla already having peeled off into the crowd, Sal found himself stopped by a group of his peers.

'Sal, how are you, you old devil?' It was forced out around a cigar.

'You finally gave in and brought some slaves, I knew you would. Your idealism couldn't last in the face of cheap labour, whose could? Don't feel bad, old boy, we still respect you.' Respect like that he could live without. Even knowing how well things had turned out he still felt bad for having owned another human being.

Quickly excusing himself he finally had his chance to meet the infamous Mr Dettore, 'Senator Dettore, I've been dieing to meet you. I'm Salvatore Prince; I trust you've heard of me?' He could see the younger man's eyes widen in recognition and awe.

'A real pleasure to meet you, Mr Prince but it isn't senator just yet.' He was certainly charming with his bright smile and honeyed voice.

'Please call me Salvatore,' an old ploy but an effective one.

'And you must call me Brad! This really is an honour, sir. Your business is an inspiration to me. You attitude towards slavery and its use in industry is so refreshing,' Sal's shot open; 'You use real men and women who add to other parts of society, paying a wage. SO many people use slaves at the expense of free men and women. Yet another reason why slaves need to be legislated against and kept in their place.'

'Quite, although you do know that I now own quite a fully stable of personal slaves?' How would the other man respond to this?

'Oh, of course I know that Sal. In fact I own a slave from the very same auction as you. I even bought her for the same reason; protection. I am not a fool, although some of those pro-slave sympathisers would disagree, I recognise the role slaves play in our society. We could not abolish slavery; I simply think that it should be regulated and that slaves should not take jobs from the free. They should be given the most menial and dangerous jobs, ones where if an individual is harmed or killed in its execution it would not matter.' Here he paused fixing keen eyes on the mogul. 'I suppose that's why I can't quite understand why you tried so hard to retrieve that one you had stolen.'

'Well, Brad, when your daughter wants her new toy back you do what you can.' You sly little bastard! Try to lull me with flattery will you? I've been playing this game since before you were born! 'I've heard you have some interesting ideas on people's rights to free their slaves?'

'Indeed. If I get into office I intend to put legislation in place to stop that practice. I feel that only the state should have the power to free slaves, and that it shouldn't really be done at all. I also intend to recapture those who have previously been released in order to clean up society. It shouldn't be too hard to put them back to their original jobs.'

'Sounds like a big job.' Time to get out of here, 'Oh, I see my wife waving to me. I think that means its time to go. I'll see you again, Brad.'

The four occupants of the limousine sat in stunned silence, finally able to absorb the importance of what they had heard. Night had fallen, wrapping them in darkness as they drew closer to the house. Normally the boys would be taken to their homes by the driver before depositing the family founders, but by unspoken agreement they had decided to return to the mansion.

Earlier, as they had pulled away from the curb, Rodrigo and Sal had compared notes and come to a silencing conclusion. The youngest Prince could once again end up suffering at another's hands. Not usually a political animal, Rodrigo was now hell bent on preventing the other man's election. Nate, more of a realist than his sibling, was preparing for the worst. All he knew for certain was that they had done well to keep the release of their slaves quiet. Most of the journey had been a quiet affair.

Arriving home they all noticed only a few lights burning inside the house. Darla was keen eyed enough to see light spilling around the corner from the patio at the rear of the house. Seeing nothing amiss, the groups proceeded inside, Sal punching in the number combination that acted as a key.

Walking into the brightly lit foyer, they were stunned to see Hunter carrying Francesca up the stairs. Both women looked dishevelled and very amused. Having failed to notice their impromptu audience, the young brunette suddenly gripped her lover's shoulder, making her freeze in her ascent.

'My panties!' Four sets of eyebrows crawled into their hairlines as they realised; they hadn't walked in on the start of something but in the middle.

Almost dropping the slender woman, the warrior put her on the landing and turned to charge downstairs and coming face-to-face with her in-laws. Turning a bright crimson in embarrassment, she froze, forgetting that her tight top was pushed up, exposing her breasts. This fact did not go unnoticed by the three men; Sal quickly averted his eyes holding back a chuckle as he saw his sons openly gaping.

'Rhani, I think you've missed something.' Darla turned the mortified woman away and helped her straighten her top, all the while shooting daggers at her sons. 'You just go and do whatever you were off to do.' She patted a grey covered bottom and sent her on her way like a child. Docilely she complied. 'Not a word!' A raised finger punctuated the words as she turned to her children. 'I think we should discuss things in the morning, you two go on home.'

Nate and Roddie grinned at their mother while nodding acceptance; the comical (and sexy) display having brought them out of their funk. Nothing was going to happen between now and 8am . Feeling mischievous, they looked at one another before calleing up the stairs, 'Night Princess!' A very embarrassed face popped over the banister, clearly having been hiding.

'Hello boys, mum...dad,' on the last word her voice became a squeak.

Laughing uproariously the two men turned to leave, kissing both parents on the cheek before exiting the house. Unlike his sons, Sal's mirth was not strong enough to push aside his fears. Putting on a happier tone than he felt, he called a good night to his daughter before distortedly kissing his wife and disappearing into the bowels of the house.

Darla shook her head at the antics of her sons and in concern over her husband. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed the warrior shuffling back into the house. Choosing to avoid too much further embarrassment for the young women she smiled encouragingly at the blond. Turning towards her daughter, who remained peeking down from above, she smiled brightly.

'Have fun, dear. See you in the morning.' Winking at her daughter she repressed her own chuckle - that girl was just too easy. With a negligent wave she followed her husband's path into the house.

Later that night, they lay wrapped in each others arms, talking softly and trading gentle kisses. As was their custom, Hunter sat with her back against the headboard, supported by pillows while Francesca pillowed her own head on the warrior's ample chest. Looking down during a lull in conversation she realised that the taller woman was examining one of her breasts. She had no need to ask what was being scrutinized so closely with a look of concern.

'I'm all better now, you know. It's just cosmetic. That guy you got did a really good job.' There had been some concern over her physical state when she had first been liberated from Jordan 's clutches and Francesca stilled dwelled on it at times. Even the plastic surgeon who had repaired maimed nipple had not been able to hide all of the damage.

'I know, but...' Sighing she lowered her lips and kissed the crescent scare that surrounded her areola. To blue eyes it still looked angry and a little puckered, yet she struggled past her morass. A thought suddenly popped into her head, 'Hey, I've been meaning to ask you about today.'

'Oh?' Hunter knew where this was going and didn't particularly want to take that trip.

'You seemed really worried about Tomasz's idea and I was honestly considering it until I saw the look on your face. So, I said we'd talk later and it's later now.'

'No getting away from this, is there?'

'No.'

'It's really nothing, I just though that part of my life was over. Just the idea of being paraded around like a piece of meat makes my skin crawl. You didn't follow my sport or support slavery until I was already here, if you had you would have seen my picture everywhere.

Tomasz was right, people didn't want my autograph, or to talk to me but they do want to know me and see my image. I was on TV, newscasts, newspapers for my 'sport',' the word was spat in contempt. 'There were magazines and pay-per-view channels that we were put on. I guess it was a lot like what you have to do so I feel a little silly... you have to understand that they weren't gentle with us. They couldn't beat us when they were going to photograph us, unless that was the image they were after, so they had more creative forms of punishment. Asphyxiation and shocks were the control methods of choice.' Seeing the shadow in blue eyes she sighed, 'Just another ghost from my past.'

Spurred on by her partner to reveal more, she laid out tales of electrocution, burning and near suffocation in tiny crate-like prisons. Francesca took it all in and began to understand.

Walking into the lounge the next morning the heiress was surprised to see not only her parents but her tow brothers all clearly waiting for her. Moving to the sofa and sitting between her brothers she cocked her head and waited for them to fill her in. Just as Sal opened his mouth to get started, Hunter barrelled in, followed by the children dressed and ready for school. Standing uncomfortably in the doorway, Delores waited for her instructions for the day.

'Hunter, go and sit with Princess, please. Delores, you'll be taking the children to school today.' The reserved young woman nodded ascent. 'Now, munchkins, kiss us and it's off with you.'

'But grampa...' Terrance started to pout.

'But me no buts, boy. You have to go to school.' Castigated, the children rushed around the room, planting kisses on cheeks. Finally they hugged their mothers and her protector before tripping out of the door. Following the children's progress with his eyes, Sal saw that it was now time to begin. He was beaten to the punch by his daughter.

'What's going on, dad?' Being a Prince for 29 years, she knew when something was bothering her father.

'Princess, we heard some rather unsettling talk at the party last night. That Dettore fellow was there spouting his anti-slave propaganda and outlining his future plans.'

'OK dad, he hates slaves, I knew that already. How does that affect us?'

'He doesn't just have plans for slaves; he has plans for former slaves. If he gets into office he plans to round up anybody who has been freed and force them back into bondage.' The youngest Prince's face dropped as understanding dawned.

'What can we do?' Solve the problem, that was all that was going through her mind.

'Francesca,' Nate spoke for the first time, 'There isn't anything we can do. I looked at the poles this morning and he is really pulling ahead. I don't think anybody will catch him now. We do have a slim chance if we throw a lot of support at his closest competitor...'

'That guy's a prick too!' Trust Rodrigo to cut to the chase.

'As much as I agree with the boys I think we need to be practical. This could affect us deeply. I've already contacted my lawyers; they're burying the emancipation orders we had drawn up for our slaves. Hopefully they'll be well enough buried to avoid detection.'

'They will know Meg is free.' Low words sounded from the floor where Hunter sat at her lover's feet.

'True, Hunter, but there is little we can do about that other than formulate some reason why I would send a slave to college.' A rueful smile, 'Maybe I'll finally become eccentric.'

'We need to find Savage and Snake, warn them about what is happening and let them in on our plans.' Darla had not interjected until now, happy to let the men carry the conversation. She had been far too busy studying the quiet couple. They would get through this; they had to. Thank god for Hunter's level head, she had always insisted on playing the familiar role of surf in public, much to her partner's discomfort. Now, that might just save them both.


	9. Chapter 9

It fell from nerveless fingers to clatter harmlessly on the shiny wooden floor. Faintly she could hear the person on the other end asking if she was still there. Taking a deep breath to regain her composure, the family matriarch scooped up the receiver and placed it back to her ear.

"Ma'am? You still there?" The man on the other end of the phone sounded genuinely concerned.

"Yes officer, I'm so sorry about that. I was just so shocked by the news, we've been wondering where he was." Her voice sounded calm and she thanked years of practice that she could put on such an act.

"Mrs Prince, we would like to speak to you and your family. Would it be convenient to send over a detective today?"

"Of course, I'll tell my husband and daughter to expect you. Francesca will be shooting today so the detective will need to arrive after six." What else could she say? Numbly she replaced the receiver, pinching the bridge of her nose to ward off the approaching headache. Sighing sadly she went off in search of her husband.

Finally, the video shoot was over, and not a minute too soon as far as the young heiress was concerned. Two days since her troubling conversation with her family, the last thing on her mind was following the orders of the flamboyant director. Alone in the costume trailer, having dismissed the grabbing hands of her dressers, she tore the clinging black material and threw it aside. The sooner she could get out of here the better. Easing the skirt over her hips she let it fall to the floor, negligently stepping out of it as she walked over to her street clothes.

Picking up her jeans she bent to put them on, coming face-to-face with her reflection in a floor length mirror. Blue fabric fell to the floor, forgotten, to bunch around her right ankle as she rose to stand. Eyes locked on her image as she studied the grim face that stared back. Even though worry was etched on her visage, from the grim set of her mouth to the flint in her eyes, it actually made her look strong and resolute.

Continuing to examine herself she admitted that her current appearance was a far cry from the timid figure she had been just eighteen months ago. Confidence that Douglas had spent years beating out of her had come back ten fold. It was almost as though his death had let her breathe for the first time. She even looked taller now that she no longer hung her head and shielded herself from prying eyes. Not that there weren't still people watching her every move, she just didn't have to worry about a raised hand or voice if something went wrong. That was an incredibly liberating experience for the young woman even in the face of the newest crisis facing her family.

Nothing bad is going to happen to Rhani , resolved in her thoughts she pulled her jeans up her long, toned legs and pulled her thin, v-necked sweater over her head. Even though the news had scared her, she had decided that she would not panic, and so far she had managed to concentrate on her relationship and not any looming drama. Smoothing her hair she walked towards the door and sat to pull on her shoes. As she began to tie the laces in her right sneaker a soft rap sounded on the thin door.

"Come in," Francesca didn't need to look up to know who stood in the arch of the doorway. The uncomfortable sound of shuffling and a slight, nervous throat clearing were more than enough of a giveaway. "Hello Raz."

"Hi..." She glanced up in time to see him rub the back of his neck like a flustered schoolboy. Not really in the mood to placate the man's irrational fears of bicker with him she fixed him with a clear blue stare.

"Did you want something?" More biting than she had planned she had too much on her mind to think about his feelings.

"Oh, yeah, Tomasz said that he's really pleased with the video. I was really glad it went well..." OK, be a grown up Rashid! "I am really sorry about the way I've behaved towards you and your partner. She and I spoke and she made me realise a few things that I wasn't seeing. I'd also like to apologise for my absence from the set these last few days." Francesca had been wondering about his abrupt departure, he was usually really hands on when she did this sort of thing.

"Thank you, Raz, I appreciate you trying. Where have you been?" Shoes fastened she stood and snagged her jacket.

"I was canvassing for some good venues for you to peddle your wears. I've got you booked onto some really great TV interviews in the next two weeks. I've got all the information and I've left it in your limo. Read it through this afternoon and I'll call you tonight to get confirmation." Glee was written all over his face, this was the man that Francesca liked to call friend. "This'll be huge! These will be your first real interviews since everything happened so we'll have to work on some of your Q and A." Spinning off into his planning he wandered off as they left the trailer, throwing a distracted wave at the woman who move din the opposite direction.

"You look pleased."

"Agh!" A manicured hand clutched at her chest as a rather undignified scream left her lips.

"Sorry, I thought you knew I was waiting there." Chastened, Hunter hung her head, staring fixedly at the floor, idly scuffing the toe of her shoe.

"Oh, honey," remembering too late where they were she glanced around at the endearment and relaxed to see nobody was close by, "I was just a little preoccupied by Raz, that's all." Green eyes peered from under shaggy blond bangs. Now that's just too darn cute! She looks like she did when we were 8!

Seeing the gooey look on her lover's face she Hunter returned it, "So, why are you looking so pleased?"

"Raz seems to be getting over his case of ass-hole-itus, he apologised and even told me about the conversation you two had the other day. I think he'll be OK, I'd really hate to have to replace him, that'd be a real pain." They began to walk towards the exit, Francesca waving and smiling at people as she passed by.

Before they reached the long, black vehicle waiting for them they were intercepted by Tomasz. Unusually, today he was dressed rather conservatively in a tailored purple suit and tie, well it's only conservative because it's on Tomasz, mentally Hunter rolled her eyes at the thought, the director simply had that effect on her.

"It has been fantastic to work with you again, Francesca. I hope that we will do it again in the future, no?"

"I couldn't agree more. I have had a really great time on this. I'll see you soon," they embraced and shared air kisses on each cheek before the director nodded at the silent guard and headed to his office.

Maybe now we can get out of here! Hunter's suit was really irritating her, she didn't mind wearing it but one of the best parts of her day was falling into the limo on the way home and whipping off her shirt and tie. Today that was being delayed and making her a bit grouchy.

Out of the corner of her eye the singer could see her protector fidgeting. Anybody else would have seen the bodyguard, standing still, at her charges side as she did every day. Francesca, who was becoming more intoned to the other woman's subtle body language could see it all; the slight twitching in small hands, not even the clenching of fists, the occasional raise and stretch of her chin all screamed 'home time' to the heiress. Quickly checking that nobody was watching them in the parking lot, she reached out and briefly squeezed a rough hand.

"Come on, lets get out of here," a beaming smile spread over angelic features as she reached around the lithe figure to open the door.

One long, denim covered leg lifted into the car, its owner bending low to follow it inside. Settling comfortably into the leather seat, the door closed behind her with a soft snick. Smiling softly she waited for the other woman to join her. One more convention of their relationship outside the house, Hunter always go into the car on the other side after letting Francesca in, it would be unseemly for the 'master' to scoot over for the slave to get in.

Suddenly the other door was pulled open; bright sunlight flooding the tinted gloom of the interior. A beaming smile lit up her face as she turned to face the figure in t doorway, only to fall as she saw who it was.

"Hay, babe, don't look so pleased to see me!" Joi Joi Man affected a hang-dog look of hurt even as he threw himself into the car. Looking over his shoulder she saw Hunter looking through the door with an expression that read 'you try and stop him!' a dark eyebrow quirked.

"Mungo wanted to say bye," as the words left her mouth she started to chuckle, straightening up and leaning against the door frame to wait for them to finish. Allowing herself to admire her girlfriend's firm butt, she almost forgot that she wasn't alone until he spoke.

"You know, she gets entirely too much of a kick out of my name! You hit the jackpot with her, girl, she's a hoot!" White teeth shone from his wide smile and Francesca could well understand why his record label signed him. His dark chocolate skin glowed flawlessly and his boyish good looks and charm were contrasted well by his massive height and musculature. He was the epitome of rapper chic, with the personality of a naughty schoolboy...and he wasn't a bad rapper either!

"I can't disagree with you there, she is a real god send," in more ways than you can imagine, "and if you didn't want her to laugh at you, you shouldn't have told her your first name!"

"Look, I thought it'd be a nice ice breaker with her."

"Why did you want to break the ice with her?" Honestly, she'd been curious about that from the start.

"I just knew that we'd be spending time together, which meant that she would be there too," picking at his nail he looked up nervously. "She's a person, like us, I couldn't just act like she wasn't there because somebody made her a slave."

"I like the way you think," she leaned over to touch his arm.

"I knew you'd understand!" He reached into his shirt pocket and drew out a card. "I usually don't put this around, especially not in the industry 'cause so many people treat slaves like another bit of bling, but I know I can trust you." Shit, he knows! Francesca was on the verge of panic, stay calm! "I'm a member of this group, we work to end slavery. Mainly, I just donate - not good for my career to be seen doing this. You might want to take a look." Slender fingers reached out and snagged the card.

"Thank you Mungo." Knowing that Hunter had been listening to every word, she could almost picture the smile on her face. Choosing to change topic before he left, she asked the other question that had been plaguing her since they met. "Where the hell did your parent's come up with that name?"

"Well," he stretched out the word, tantalisingly, "my mom's called Divine and when she was younger this actor got into trouble with a hooker called Divine. Anyway when my parents found out they were having me my mother's warped sense of humour decided I should be named after that actor, apparently Mungo's his middle name." Francesca was near tears with laughter.

"You poor bastard," a shaggy blond head leaned through the doorway, eyes fixed on him.

"Yeah, well, I expect you two to keep that little titbit quiet! I don't tell anybody, it won't even be in my autobiography if I can help it!" Chirping from his wrist drew his attention. "I gotta go girls, got a photo op in twenty minutes." He leaned forward to kiss the brunette's cheek. "Keep in touch, babe." He clambered out of the car and past Hunter with a pat on the shoulder and was gone. Finally the other woman was able to get into the car and close the door.

With the closing of the door the car started and pulled off from the lot. It was good to have a driver who could use his initiative. Francesca eased herself into the corner of the seat, back in the v where it met the door so that she could watch her partner. In almost frantic movements the smaller woman had already lot the jack and was now almost frantically pulling the shirt over her head to reveal a white wife-beater. It soon became obvious to her audience that she was stuck, shirt wrapped around her head and arms at a bizarre angle as she grew more and more frustrated. Finally, with arms wedged over her head and face peering halfway out of her shirt where it was wedged, a single green eye turned pleadingly to her observer.

"Little help?" The feeble gesture she made with her arms was what broke the singers resolve not to laugh and she giggled freely as she moved to the rescue. Something she had learnt early in her relationship with the warrior was that you didn't interfere until she asked, so she had sat back and waited.

"Relax Rhani, I'll take care of you." Hunter went completely still and let her childhood friend reach inside the folds of the shirt and loosen the knot of her tie, when that was done she snapped open a couple of buttons and pulled the shirt free.

"Thank you," leaning forward she kissed her lover and snagged her rumpled shirt, folding it as best she could and laying it on another seat. "You love me for my finesse, right?"

"You, lover, have a lot more going for you than that!" Francesca proceeded to show her lover one of those things.

"Your mother's left you five messages, Chess I think you should call her back and find out what's wrong." Arm flung to the side, elbow bent awkwardly so that she could look at the display on the little phone, Hunter tried to make her languid lover respond. Said lover was currently sprawled across her, on her stomach, pinning the smaller woman to the seat.

"Can't it wait?" The words were slurred and exasperated.

"I don't think so. It must be really urgent; you should do something on this trip home, we only have fifteen minutes left and you haven't even looked at the papers Raz left." Jerking upwards like some sort of demented marionette, she cast about for the phone before falling back into place as the auto-dialler did its work.

"Mom, it's me. What's with all the messages?" At least she didn't sound like she'd been heavy petting with her girlfriend in the back of a limousine... How old am I? I'm like a teenager at prom! The thought popped into her head, but before she could feel self conscious about it she looked up into green eyes, and I love it!

"Princess, the police called this morning, Savage was murdered in Vegas." Darla didn't get further than that before there was a thud on the other end of the line and she realised her daughter had had the same reaction as she had.

At the look on her face, Hunter raised them both to a sitting position, Francesca straddling her lap, and folded her in a warm embrace. The stricken younger woman buried her head in a muscular shoulder and breathed raggedly. Tentatively Hunter reached down, stretching to snag the phone with fingertip and drag it to where she could pick it up.

"Darla, what's going on? Chess has just closed down." The worry in her voice was evident.

"Hunter, its not good. The police called me this morning. Savage has been killed. They want to come over and interview us, they think that he's an escapee."

"It just never ends, does it?" Defeated the warrior rested her cheek on dark hair.

"Now don't you go all defeatist on me. This could just be an accident, they haven't told me more. We've got a little under an hour before they arrive. We'll talk when you get here." Hearing a faint sob in the background she hung up, knowing that the stoic young warrior would sooth her youngest child.

"It'll be all right, Chess." The phone was once again dropped to the floor as she ran gentle hands up and down the bowed back. "I promise."

Touching the tip of the stylus to his PDA, the young detective continued to file away the information that he received from the family. So far they had been very cooperative, giving him details on when they had last seen the dead slave and why they thought he had fled to Vegas. One thing continued to bother him, though, they were hiding something and he couldn't quite figure out what.

"Why didn't you report his escape to the proper authorities?" Would he get a straight answer to that?

"Well, Detective Ives, if I'm honest we didn't see the point. The recapture rate of the agency is not high. He's only been gone a week, we thought he might come back on his own." No need to share that he had been gone for almost a year.

"You're sure it's only been a week?" That really didn't fit with the amount of possessions they had found at the slaves lodgings, far more than could have been accumulated in such a short time.

"Well it may be closer to 10 days." Sal hoped that the detective was buying this.

"Fine. Obviously we are not investigating your family, this is purely cleanup that we perform whenever a slave is found dead outside of the family home. We may need to look into some of your records a she may well have stolen from you in order to flee. Our people will contact your accounts and lawyers for what we need." They're definitely hiding something.

He cast his eyes to the women, who although cooperative when asked a direct question, had volunteered nothing. The elder Prince woman seemed composed, much like her husband, whereas her daughter looked like she was only just holding herself together. Periodically her mother would squeeze her hand as a show if reassurance.

"I am very sorry that we have had to bring this to your attention. Obviously after the tragedies of the last two years, you hoped to never see the police again. I assure you that we will try to deal with this situation with as little inconvenience to you as possible." Checking over the notes in his computer he found that he had all he needed; for now. "We'll take our leave now; we will contact you when we have anything further to report." Shaking the seated man's hand he was pleased when the family matriarch walked him to the door, along with his colleague who had been waiting in the hallway.

Exiting the study, Darla looked around for Hunter as she led the detective and his uniformed assistant to the front door. She had expected to see the warrior waiting outside, eager to rejoin her lover but she was nowhere in sight. Opening the heavy front door, she bade her thanks to the two men and closed the door behind them, scurrying back to her husband and daughter. When she reached the study she saw Francesca curled up with her head on her father's shoulder, looking dejected. Red-rimmed, blue eyes turned to her expectantly.

"Where's Rhani?" Craning her neck she peered around her mother as she stood in the doorway.

"I don't know, she wasn't in the hallway when I left. I'm sure she'll be back soon darling," while speaking she had walked over to rest her hand her child's shoulder.

"I think I'll go and find her." Francesca stood and shuffled to the door, looking tired.

"What do you think all of this will mean to us, Sal?" Darla took her daughter's lace at her husband's side.

"I don't know. If they start digging they might find out he was free, my lawyers have only just started to conceal that information."

"I never really liked the man but I feel terrible for lying about him now. It's like a betrayal of what Francesca gave him." Silence fell in the room as they sat, side-by-side, at a loss as to what to do next.

Hands clasped under her chin, Hunter watched her friends potter around the kitchen, making tea. They were so cute together and had become so domestic since being freed that nobody would ever guess that they had been slaves. Unlike her body, which showed evidence of her previous life through scars on her face and body, Shep and Megan had always been more careful when fighting and when dressed looked like everybody else. It was good to see the pair of them looking as happy as she felt, well most of the time.

Casting her eyes around their home, she saw all of the homey touches that they had added throughout what had once been little more than stables. The walls were washed in soft, warm colours and they had added new furniture throughout. She really couldn't be happier for the two, which made telling them the bad news all the more heart breaking. She knew that Darla hadn't had the opportunity to tell the gardener and the college student what had happened to Savage, so decided to do it herself. Having heard what the police had said, she had left before he started questioning the family.

A steaming cup was set in front of her, drawing her attention away from meandering thoughts and back to her friends. Shep was grinning at her stupidly while Meg kept leaning into his body and smiling. Something was certainly up with the two of them.

"We're glad you stopped by, seems like you're always too busy with Francesca to see us lately, we have some news for you too." From the beaming smile on the redhead's face Hunter knew it was good.

"Why don't you go first, mine can wait." Upon entering their home she had told them she had news, but they had made her wait. She could wait a little longer; it would be nice to hear some good news.

"We're having a baby!" Shep almost burst with pride as he spoke.

"Wow, congratulations, how long have you known?" Although happy for her friends she couldn't help wondering which cruel god had decided on this twist of fate.

"We only found out yesterday." It was Megan who answered her question while her partner looked adoringly at her. "I'd been feeling a little run down and nauseas, although I haven't been sick. Mat was fretting so I went to the doctor and after a couple of tests he told me I was expecting."

"I am so happy for you, you really deserve this. How far along are you?" How can I tell them now? Yet another new dilemma to add to the mix, but I must do it.

"Twelve weeks, so still early days."

"She won't even let me start making a crib for the baby, says that we shouldn't jinx it." The hang dog expression on his face was just too cute and Megan leaned over to kiss it away.

"What did you have to tell us?" Finally the couple fixed their attention on their old friend. "Come on, spill your guts!"

"I wish that I had news even half as good as yours but I don't. Savage is dead." There it was, out on the kitchen table, lying atop the broken remnants of their good news.

"Oh God, when? Where? How?" Shep could barely form a thought through his shock.

"The police said that he was found in a back alley in Las Vegas . He had been seen hours before gambling but nobody saw anything suspicious."

"At least he was doing what he said he would." Megan tried to see the positive even under such dire circumstances.

"True enough. It seems that he was mugged for his money and beaten to death by at least ten people. I don't believe that was the motive and I don't think the police do either." She began to study the grain of the table intently.

"You think it was more of these people who hate slaves being freed?"

"Yeah I do, Shep. Unlike you two Savage, Snake and I have been on TV a lot. It wouldn't take much for people to realise who he was."

"It's getting worse, isn't it?" Absentmindedly the redhead began to rub her stomach.

"With that Dettore guy likely to get into office and pass his legislation, we don't stand a chance. He'll have us rounded up and put back into slavery if he gets in, that's his policy." She saw two pairs of eyes widen in shock, the big man put an arm around his lover's shoulders. "Don't worry, Sal is trying to work out a way for us to stay safe. Your baby will be born free."

"I hope so." Green eyes wet to the window, "I think somebody is looking for you." Hunter followed the other woman's gaze and saw the heiress walking towards the stables.

"I'd better go, she looks upset. I'm really sorry that I had to spoil your news." A large hand was raised in a shushing motion.

"Don't be, we needed to know. Go to her, we'll see you later." Hugging the big man the little warrior made her way out the door.

Late night gala's and premiere's were the part of being a bodyguard that Hunter hated the most. Tonight's event was the premiere of a new action movie, featuring the new muscle bound hero of the moment. She would be bored during the feature and Francesca would be totally uninterested in the content but they wouldn't be able to talk. It was a real pain.

That nights entertainment was a last minute thing, the singer's agent having snagged them attendance at the last minute, literally hours before it would start. After the turbulent news that they had received Hunter though that her younger partner would give it a miss but she had seemed keen to attend. So little time had they had to get ready that the couple had not had time to talk since they met with the police. Almost as soon as Hunter had left the stables to catch up to Francesca the phone had rung and they had found out about the event. What with getting ready and the brief trip in the limo, they had not had time to talk.

As the car pulled up to the red carpet, people screamed and lights flashed from either side, Hunter felt her hand squeezed by her lover as she moved to open the door. Climbing out of the car, the bodyguard stood talk in her tuxedo style outfit and reached out a hand to assist the taller woman's exit. As she straightened in her crimson, backless dress the screams grew louder and people began to call her name.

Feeling a hand on the small of her back, the brunette smiled, liking the intimacy of the gesture which by onlookers would just be seen as a protective measure. Moving towards one of the many journalists who flanked the walkway, she prepared to answer a few questions before moving on to the next one and the next and the next. Just before they reached the man, she felt Hunter lean in towards her and cocked her head to hear the soft words.

"I'm really sorry about running off earlier."

"You can make it up to me later."

"Miss Prince are you looking forward to the movie." The loud young man thrust the microphone into her face and waited, impatiently for her response. This was something that could take her mind off her other problems.

"I really enjoy a good storyline so this movie should...

Dettore had gone to bed several hours ago, leaving his slave at loose ends. He may be an uptight ass when he was awake but he didn't seem to mind what she did when he was asleep, as long as she stayed away from his room. Tonight she sat on the sofa casually flicking through cable channels; the novelty of TV had yet to wear off for her. Clicking the button once again, moving from a cookery show to monster trucks she heard the front door of the apartment open and close. Craning her neck she looked towards the hallway and waited for the thin man to appear.

Cliff walked into Bradley's home as though he owned it, using the key that the other man had given him the day he bought the place. As he walked into the main living area he heard the sound of the television and saw the slender blonde lounging on the sofa. Greeting him politely, she turned back to her channel hopping as he went to the kitchen for a beer. Selecting to bottles and popping the caps he joined her.

Cliff didn't hate slaves the way his friend did, in fact he was rather indifferent to them. Abolishing the right to freedom was a means to an ends for him, so he could be civil, even friendly, to the temperamental warrior. Taking a pull from his beer, he watched her flick from channel to channel like an electronic hummingbird until she suddenly stopped. So sudden was the pause in the jumbled images that it took his mind a moment to register what it was. There on the screen was a movie premiere, the particular focus of attention at that moment the singer, Francesca Prince. Cliff vaguely remembered her being in the papers over some stalker the previous year.

"I know her." Startled by the words, Cliff turned to his, usually silent companion, waiting for more. When none was forthcoming he urged her on.

"You know Francesca Prince?"

"Not the mistress, the slave. She was a stable mate of mine. She's called Hunter and she is an excellent gladiator." Cliff had heard of the warrior in question.

"You look shocked to see her, why? You must have known she was sold, like yourself."

"I'm not shocked to see her; I'm not even shocked to see who she's with. What does surprise me? Look at how they are touching? Doesn't that seem really familiar to you?" Changing to another news programme that was showing the same footage, she searched for one showing their arrival at the show.

"Maybe, but she could just be touching her there to guide her forward. What are you looking for?" Could this work for him?

"This," she paused on a station showing the couple disembarking from a black limousine. Almost as soon as they left the car the shorter woman had her hand on the other woman's back. Approaching the reporter the women leaned into each other and momentarily their pose was very intimate indeed. "That is not the way a slave and a master react together, not even if they are having an affair. That's the way equals behave."

"You think that this Hunter creature is free and in a relationship with the Prince girl all from seeing that tiny bit of video?" This could give him a real focus for the campaign, somebody to concentrate on, make an example of.

"I think there is a good chance."

"Thank you Thorn, thank you very much." The little man stood and left, leaving the bodyguard bemused but sure he had something up his sleeve, his sort always did. She reached for the remnants of his beer and drained it, before reaching for her own and settling on a cheesy sci-fi movie.


	10. Chapter 10

“Mr Dettore, many people have speculated on the reasons for your hostility towards the freedom of slaves yet you have never made your motives clear; would you be willing, at this time, to give the public this information?” The reporter looked keenly at the big man seated behind the conference table, flanked by two of his rivals, as did all of the assembled press and the home audience.

“I’m glad you asked me that. Before coming to this press conference, I agonised about what I should say in answer to that question. It was only when I spoke with my advisor that I realised that the only way to end this constant speculation was to reveal the truth. This could well make or break me, ladies and gentlemen, so I would appreciate no interjections while I explain.” Nodding, the other panel members agreed to this while the journalists were almost salivating over the news. In the background, Cliff repressed a smug grin.

“You’re probably all very aware hat records of my youth are sealed, or you’d already know what I am about to tell you. The reason for that, and my antipathy, are one and the same. When I was a boy my parents owned a big ranch and many slaves. It as prosperous and my family treated those slaves like they were free – even paid them. Life was great, I had a brother and a sister and we would play with the slave children…” Gradually he trailed off, wearily rubbing his forehead.

“I was at camp when it happened, my siblings didn’t come with me, they’d grown out of it. I’d had a really good time. When nobody came to collect me from the bus, I made my own way home in a cab. What I found was…it was…” he drew in a shuddering breath. “My whole family had been slaughtered, butchered like animals. Body parts were strewn everywhere and the house was on fire. The taxi driver dragged me away…” He blinked back tears and cleared his throat. 

“It seems that the slaves weren’t satisfied with life and decide to change their own destiny. That was the day I realised that no matter how much they look like human beings, they aren’t! They are animals that need to be monitored at all times, totally cowed. Many people feel this way, with far les cause than I, but are too afraid to voice their concern. I want to be their voice.” Glancing around the audience he saw shock and understanding in many eyes.

As another reporter started to ask a question his voice was suddenly muted by the man watching his television in a dim room. Sal was stunned by what he had just seen. The re-run press conference from several day s before put the nail in the coffin of his plans to try and keep the young man from power. So many people would identify with his story and feel his pain while others, those he had spoken of, would find the balls to stand up for their beliefs publicly.

“Shit!” Glass shattered against the far wall as he hurled his scotch in frustration.

Snapping the sound back on, he knew he needed to hear what else had been said. As the speakers slowly came back up, he steepled his fingers to his lips and tried to formulate a new plan and waited for more.

“Fire crews arrived here at 7pm, Ken, and the blaze continues to wreak havoc on this city block. Little is known, as yet, as to the cause of the fire, though fire investigators seem sure that it was the work of arsonists.” The dark haired reporter tossed her head, attempting to dislodge hair that had been blown around her face.

The camera panned to the scene of carnage, revealing to the home audience the level of damage caused by the licking flames. Several buildings lay in ruins while others were still fighting back against the lances of water directed t them by fire crews. Fire trucks lined the curb with yellow jacketed men rushing around like insects trying to beat back the danger that they had yet to quash.

“Louise, do they have any idea where the fire actually started?” The camera moved from the studio, taking in the well dressed anchorman, back to the scene of destruction.

“Yes Ken, this is the site of a campaign centre for Bradley Dettore.” The camera moved to show a smoking pile of bricks. “As you can clearly see the building has been totally destroyed. It seems likely that the fire originated here and spread outwards. This is likely to have been the target and initial police inquiries support this. It is suspected that this was some sort of retaliation for the recent comments made by Dettore in a press conference, lending further weight to his campaign.”

“Could this have been the work of extremist freedom activists? Or even a group of freed slaves?”

“Why yes, Ken, that is exactly what the police are looking into. It seems that a large group of what looked to be picketers were seen running from this area shortly before the fire was reported. We’ll keep you posted with more information as it becomes available. This is Louise Warren, Channel Six News at the corner of Preston and Fife, handing you back to the studio.”

“Thank you Louise,” the camera was firmly focused on the anchor. “We will keep you updated on any further developments throughout the night. This seems to be yet another example of the increasing violence directed towards those against emancipation by those who have received the right and their supporters. Is it time for us to start taking head of Dettore’s message? Time will tell.”

With a snick the TV went off, leaving the tall, haggard man sitting in darkness, tapping his fingers agitatedly on his armrest. Snapping on the lamp on the table beside him, he picked up the pen and pad of paper that he kept close to hand. Flipping o a page covered in jumbled thoughts, he began to scroll more information on the page.

Minutes passed as he furiously laid down his thoughts. Finally finished he stood from his seat; paper clutched firmly in hand and made his way to the phone. Picking up the receiver he hit speed dial, waiting to be connected to the familiar address.

“Dad, we have got to do something…”

“Seen it, seen it, that’s weird, soap, blah…Man, doesn’t anybody show anything decent anymore?” Rodrigo threw a kernel of popcorn into his mouth as he continued to scan through the channels looking for something to watch.

Roddie was used to being up late at night but usually he was gallivanting about town surrounded by women, not sitting at home flicking through the channels. He could have gone out, lived it up and forgotten all of his woes, only he didn’t think that would work today, it certainly hadn’t for the rest of the week. His mind was far too preoccupied with worries over his sister and her lover to let loose and have fun. Knowing that he could not discuss the situation with any of his ‘friends’ he’d opted to stay home instead.

Most people saw Rodrigo Prince as the weak link in the family; he knew his parent’s didn’t see it that way but so many others did. He tended to live down to those expectations, drinking, partying, wasting money on frivolous trifles but when push came to shove he always pushed back. Where his family was concerned he pushed very hard indeed. He loved his little sister too much to just sit back and do nothing, problem was, what could he do?

His brother and his father were much better suited to rile against the political machine and he wasn’t entirely sure what part he could play in this personal war. All he knew was that he had to do something. Trying not to wallow too deeply in his malaise he tossed another fluffy ball into the air and caught it in his mouth as he turned to one of a multitude of tabloid gossip shows.

After watching a segment on the newest cosmetic surgery he felt his eyes beginning to droop. Ready to throw in the towel and give in to sleep he was about to turn the television off when an all too familiar face appeared on the screen. Eyes widening in shock he studied the screen. Hanging over the shoulder of the young nymphet, seated in the foreground, was a headshot of his sister. Turning the volume up, he paid rapt attention to her words.

“Speculation is rife tonight about the relationship that singer and heiress Francesca Prince may share with her slave bodyguard. Earlier today several media agencies received packs of materials showing that the Prince Empire has released several of its slaves. This came to light while the police were investigating the death of one named Savage, under the misguide notion that he had run away. It would seem that he had been freed and sent on his way.

Why have the Prince family hidden their freeing of slaves? What do hey have to hide? Are they affiliated with the rogue factions who are raising their heads? All these questions and more and sure to be answered in the next few days; leading us back to our original question, is Francesca Prince in a relationship with her bodyguard? These candid shots taken on the red-carpet at a recent movie premiere would seem to suggest that she is.”

Watching as his sister was escorted down the red carpet by a gentle hand on her back before leaning intimately close to her slave he saw what thousands of other viewers would see. He saw two women who looked far too comfortable together to simply be master and slave. As the segment moved n to something else, he heard none of what was said as he grabbed the cordless at his side, punching n the familiar number.

Resting her elbows on the polished surface of the table, the blond held her head between her hands. Shaggy blond hair covered her eyes as she slowly shook her head in defeat. The three men watching her said nothing, they had already said enough, simply waiting for some sort of verbal response from the young woman. After what felt like hours of silence, she raised her head and rubbed her eyes with one hand while the other curled into a fist on the tabletop.

“We’re screwed, aren’t we?” No shout, no scream just a quiet and resigned question.

“I won’t lie to you Hunter, it doesn’t look good.” Sal had decided to speak to Hunter first, on her own, before facing his daughter. Hopefully the warrior would be able to soothe Francesca’s fears once she was told, not that there was much she could soothe with.

“He might not get in…” Roddie so wanted to inject some hope but couldn’t quite manage it. “Who am I kidding, it wouldn’t matter if he did or didn’t anymore. He’s stirred up so much fear and distrust that the genie is out of the bottle and it ain’t going back.” 

“I won’t leave her,” seemingly coming form nowhere, all three men had been expecting it.

“We’d never ask that, Hunter, and it’s too late for it to make any difference even if we did.” Sal reached over and patted her hand reassuringly. “Nate?”

Nate cleared his throughout before slipping on his thin silver spectacles. Opening the pad that lay in front of him he quickly glanced over his notes before beginning. In that brief moment, Hunter was able to see the face of the Prince company, the methodical and deliberate Nathaniel, a contrast to his headstrong father and impetuous brother. Meeting his eyes, she nodded, ready to hear what he had to say.

“Father decided that I should look into possible resolutions to this. Obviously we have several issues to contend with; a) Press interest in you and Francesca, b) Anti-Emancipation protestors outside many Prince holdings, and c) No longer being able to hide your freedom from prying eyes. Now some of these can be lessened but none of them can actually be resolved. We’ve already put out a press release for the companies and dad is going to do a press conference.” He looked to his father who nodded an interjected.

“I am also going to look into the reasons why so many people have been able to look into records that I asked my lawyers to seal. Needless to say they are not going to be my representation for much longer.” Anger was clear in his eyes.

“Next, we think that you and Francesca should go away for a while; away from the press. We’ll find you a private island, some sort of getaway that will be kept totally undisclosed. You can take the children and try not to worry. We’re working on what we’ll do about you after Dettore gets in.” is low, soothing voice and commanding tone made his ideas seem infinitely plausible.

“What about Shep and Megan? The press know that they are free and when the legislation goes through they’ll be rounded up like animals, like me, that can’t happen. I promised them that their baby would be born free…” Noting her growing agitation over the plight of her friends, Rodrigo stepped in.

“That’s where I come in. I actually thought about this before Nate.” There was clear pride in his voice at that revelation. “I don’t have any idea what we’ll do about you, you’re too high profile to hide and anything that might happen to you would be very suspicious. Them, however, we can do something about.” Drawing a file from the satchel on the table he thrust it at her.

Grasping the file she upended it scattering the contents in front of her. There before her lay the accessories of a life, or two as the case may be. Passport, birth certificate, medical records, everything somebody would need to support their identity f questioned. Flipping open one of the two passports she was confronted with a picture of Shep, hair a different colour and style but defiantly her friend, beside a name that was decidedly unfamiliar. Closing the document carefully she turned back to the man who had passed it to her.

“Well, no need to explain to you that those are falsified documents, the problem with false documents is that it isn’t very difficult to pick holes in them.” Rubbing his chin nervously he unconsciously glanced at his father before going on. “I don’t always mix with the most savoury characters and when I started looking into false documents a man approached me who told me he could get me real documents. I asked him what he meant and he explained that many children who die are not taken off of databases. Apparently it’s simple enough to get those records and build a life around them. If you have a life to retire it’s easy enough. Needless to say he was paid a truck load of cash and came up with these. Whether he’ll squeal I can’t tell but I doubt it.”

Picking up from his brother Nate filled in the rest of their plans for the other two gladiators as Hunter simply sat, taking it all in. Occasionally she would nod, or ask a question but in the main she stayed silent simply absorbing every detail to take to her friends.

Megan and Matt sat silently on their coach, staring fixedly at the stash of documents that now decorated their coffee table. They had barely acknowledged the departure of their old friend, too caught up in what they had heard and what it could mean for them. The implications were clear but it was a lot to take in, Hunter’s words still rang in both their ears.

They were to take on the names and identities of two long deceased children while their own lives were snuffed out. There would be some sort of staged accident, probably in a vehicle, where they would ‘die’ leaving only trace amounts of blood and hair to identify them. Then they would simply disappear with their new lives.

It wasn’t that simple, of course, few things ever are but the basics were clear. They had asked her many questions, all of which she had asked earlier for them. The answers were ingenious and covered almost every base. A paper trail had already been laid for the lives that they were to live, an entire history. They would have school and college records, proof of several houses that had been purchased and lived in, bank records and even hospital appointments that they had both made and missed. It was almost perfect. It just might work.

“Will you still love me as a blond?” Curious eyes turned to the redhead holding mirth and a little apprehension.

“As long as you’ll love me brunette!” Slowly se reached for his large hand and rested it on her burgeoning stomach. “We’ll be totally free, no preconceptions, no doubts about us. Our baby will never know the stigma of this life. We have to do this Matt, for the baby and for us…and in a strange way, for Hunter as well.” Leaning over she pressed a tender kiss to his lips.

“I agree, it’s the best option for all of us. I’m really going to miss her, though. We’ll be living this great life and where will she be? The Prince’s are powerful, no doubt,” he held up the passport as proof. “But even they can’t go against the law.”

“I love her too, but I love us more, as selfish as that may sound. They’ll find a way, we need to take what they have given us and go.”

“I know.” He was happy, ecstatic even, yet a part of him could not rejoice knowing that his best friend was probably headed back to a life he thought they had left behind.


	11. Chapter 11

Fingers threaded through blond hair, clutching and releasing to a rhythm that only she knew. Sitting alone on the patio of the large house, head hanging in her hands, Hunter knew that she should be inside with her lover but she just needed these few moments. Nobody inside could understand what she was going through, especially not Francesca; it would only hurt the younger woman if she told her just how empty she felt at this moment. There was just her now, nobody else knew what it was to be a slave, held captive for so much of your life that you could barely believe you were free.

“Free,” tipping her head back, she breathed the word out into the night. 

She didn’t really think it would last, something else she hadn’t revealed to her beloved Chess. For too long she had been a pessimist, that wasn’t about to change, especially in the face of recent events. She couldn’t escape the thought that there was only one way to stop Francesca being hurt by all this, really hurt, and that as solutions went, it was no solution at all. The Prince family could little afford more scandal after the year that they had lived through, nor could they afford jail time if Dettore’s plans went through.

Hearing footsteps join her on the concrete, she turned to meet the eyes of Salvatore Prince. The older man moved to join her on the lounge chair, perching on the edge so that their shoulders touched. Hunter turned her gaze back to the sky, Sal following suit. They sat like that, stargazing, both locked in their own thoughts for long minutes before Hunter broke the silence.

“Sal.”

“Hi Stretch.” He grinned down at the smaller woman.

“Not funny Sal.” 

“I could start calling you shorty or stimpy or…”

“Oh God, not that! Fine, Stretch it is.” Thankful for the levity she knew that she had to talk to Sal about what was on her mind. As she opened her mouth to speak, he beat her to the punch.

“I know today was hard for you, almost like a real funeral I suppose. The last thing that we want is for you to feel alone, you can talk to us, you’re one of the family now. I am sorry that we had to make such a production out of the ‘funeral’.”

“It’s ok Sal, I know why we had to do it. Worked like a charm, what journalist could resist going to the pet cremation? You were brilliant; nobody could possibly believe that you thought of us as anything other than property.” She noticed that he winced at this and laid a hand on his shoulder in reassurance. “I know that’s not you but maybe you missed your vocation.”

“I don’t think I would have been much of a screen idol. Now you on the other hand… That was an Oscar winning performance.” He thought of how solid and reserved she had been, even cowering at a raised hand at one point. It had been a painful experience, having to treat her that way, but the hope was that tomorrow’s newspapers would boast how they had revealed the ‘truth’ behind the rumours.

“As long as it worked, that’s all that matters.” There was more there and he waited patiently, knowing that eventually she would open up. “I think we need to do one more thing.”

“No, this is enough; we need to keep some semblance of a real life for you and my Princess.” 

“Sal, just hear me out. I know that Chess won’t like it but you can’t let this get out, especially now. Of course I would love to be able to walk down the street with her, showing everybody we are together. We both know that isn’t going to happen.” Rubbing at her aching temples she rid to order her thoughts. “I don’t know much about this free world but I do know people. Dettore has created a climate of fear and distrust and that’s going to give him power. I had enough masters who ran things that way. He’s made things happen and now he’ll stop it.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

“I’m hoping you won’t argue with this either. Today was a good start, Shep and Meg are safe and it went some way to hide our relationship, now we need to drive that point home.” 

“I’m not going to like this, am I?” His heart broke as he thought about all of the pain that this young woman had already suffered.

“Probably not; Francesca certainly won’t want to agree with it. You need to send me for conditioning. It’ll explain away why I was acting overly friendly and prove that you are responsible slave owners. It’ll also mean that I can show a change in the camp.” It was a less than palatable idea, even to her.

“We can’t send you back to that life.”

“If we don’t do this I’ll be back there anyway. It’s not so bad, I’ve been to conditioning several times; I’ve never been the most compliant of slaves.”

“The rebellion?”

“That was the worst time but I had been before and after. I won’t lie and say I want to do this but I do have to do this. I have to protect Chess. I’ll only be gone a couple of weeks.”

Sal mulled the idea over as he watched her chewing her lower lip. I hope you know what you’re doing kid, for both your sakes. How could he possibly say no to her idea? It was her choice to make and he would let her. The fact that she had said so much clearly showed her intent.

“You said you wouldn’t leave her,” his mind quickly flitted to the conversation they had in his study days before.

“I wouldn’t, not to save myself, but to protect her… to protect all of you… I have to do this.” 

“When do you want to do this?”

“You’re having a meeting with a few of your managers in a week; if I act out then it’ll give you witnesses and an excuse to send me without it seeming to come out of the blue.” Feeling a caring touch on her shoulder she knew that her partner’s father understood. “Now all I have to do is convince Francesca that this is the best chance we have.” Even as she spoke her shoulders were already slumping in defeat.

######

Taking a sip of her rapidly cooling coffee, the heiress continued to peruse the itinerary that Raz had provided for her. Absently setting the cup back onto the saucer with a tiny click, dark brows drew together in consternation. Running a delicate finger down the page she double checked the point that had her perplexed, not quite able to believe the volume of dates in front of her.

Raz had done a fine job in getting her out into the public domain. The list of appearances was impressive, no doubt most media agencies wanted their pound of flesh from somebody so high profile. If the drama of the previous year was not enough to wet their appetites then the new controversy about her relationship with Hunter certainly had. With a new album waiting to be released it was a real publicist’s dream.

Most people seemed to think that her alleged ‘relationship’ with the slave was nothing more than a stunt. The family, Rashid and Cliff had all braced for impact yet their had been surprisingly little backlash. A couple of her father’s holdings had received abusive mails and protests but not nearly as widespread as they had feared. She, on the other hand, had received great exposure and advanced sales of the new album were through the roof. Radio stations were playing older tracks with abandon and, professionally at least, things were looking rosy for the youngest of the Prince dynasty.

Hearing the office door open, brushing over the thick carpeting, a smile spread across her face but she didn’t turn around. Pretending that she was engrossed in the information in front of her, she ignored the soft footsteps that approached her chair. When two brawny arms came forward to wrap around her shoulders and a cheek rested on her head, she reached up to rest fingertips along warm skin.

“What’cha doing?” The words were drawled out.

“These are my plans for the next… god knows how long.” Shuffling through the paper, she showed the impressive list to the woman looking over her head.

“Wow. You’re not going to be home much, are you?” The die was cast.

“What do you mean I? You’ll be with me,” there had been something in the other woman’s voice that set the singer on edge.

“Chess,” she pulled away, reaching out to turn the other woman’s chair so that they now faced each other. The brunette could see the tension etched in the other woman’s face and braced herself for what was to come. “I need you to listen to what I have to say before you shoot me down.”

“I don’t understand, Rhani. What’s going on?” The younger woman stood and moved closer to her partner.

Grasping the taller woman’s and, the warrior led her over to the loveseat. Sitting o that they were facing one another, she grasped a refined hand in her own battle hardened one and desperately tried to focus her thoughts. She knew that nothing less than her best would make Francesca agree with her idea.

“I spoke with your father and we both agree that it would be a good idea if I was sent in for conditioning…”

“What? I don’t understand, Rhani, send you where? For what?” The small blond could feel her companion becoming increasingly agitated.

“Chess, please hear me out, it’s really nothing to worry about.” Squeezing a trembling hand in reassurance she continued, “It will alleviate any lingering suspicions about us and only takes two weeks.”

“Rhani, people don’t believe those rumours! They think it’s a publicity stunt.” The hopeful look in blue eyes was almost heartbreaking.

“Most people believe that, not all. I need to protect you; let me?”

“Why can’t you ever let me protect you?” Cool fingers brushed a scared cheek.

“Just my nature, I guess.”

“If you do this,” a deep breath, “I need to know exactly what conditioning means.”

“Basically it’s where slaves who aren’t following orders are sent to be re-trained. It really isn’t that bad,” at a dubious look she quickly amended, “Fine, so it’s no bed of roses but it’s nothing I can’t handle. It certainly isn’t anything like indoctrination. It’s just a place where they reinforce your initial instructions so that you can be given back to your master.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“I will be physically disciplined and there’s a little light brain washing.” Cringing she waited for the response to this.

“Brain washing!” The startled exclamation was what she had expected.

“Chess, I’ve been through this three times and after each one I’ve gone back to my usual pig headed self. Now I have you to snap me back too.”

“I can’t talk you out of this, can I?” 

“Nope.” Resigned, the heiress leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the other woman’s lips in agreement.

#######

DOWN WITH PRINCE INDUSTRIES!

FREEDOM FOR THE FREE!

SLAVE LABOUR IS GOOD LABOUR!

KEEP SLAVERY!

The placards bobbed up and down as irate protestors marched in front of the office building. The small office, a subsidiary of Prince Industries, had been focused on by pro slavery campaigners since the news reports about Francesca. It was true that public opinion was largely on the singer’s side, believing it to be nothing more than speculation. However those that did react, reacted publicly.

It had been days since the picketing had started and still no sign of it letting up. Salvatore Prince had made statements to the press, as had his daughter and none of it had swayed them. It seemed that they would continue to menace this, and other offices, until either they were proved right or Dettore became a senator.

With every intention of being on the streets for the long hall, they had created a camp of sorts in the car park of the building. People manned a makeshift kitchen while others kept their eye on the news on a personal LCD television. Pete, sitting and watching that small screen found the news just starting. He could barely believe his eyes as the headlines scrolled past and dashed to get the groups leader in to see it.

“Jonathan, you gotta come and see this!” Handing his sign over to another man, Jonathan followed his comrade into the tent. Once in front of the screen a crestfallen look covered his face.

‘In celebrity news; singer Francesca Prince, subject of much recent controversy, is sending her slave to a conditioning centre. Prince, who some speculated was having an affair with the same slave, told reporters that she had no choice but to take these measures. Insiders revealed that the slave, bought as a bodyguard, turned violent during a board meeting at the Prince family mansion and had to be restrained by security. The slave, formerly renowned gladiator Hunter, will be at the Sanctuary 4 centre, well known for its success in retraining slaves. One can only wonder; what will happen with this star next? You can be sure; we’ll be here to tell you!

In other news, officials have said…’

“Damn it!” The curse was mumbled too low for the other man to hear. “Pete, go tell everybody that the protest is over. No way are those rumours true, we’ve been duped by the press.” Watching the other man scuttle out of the room he hurriedly took the cell phone from his pocked and dialled a familiar number.

“Yes?”

“Cliff, we have a problem.” 

######

Coming to a halt on the gravel driveway, the large black truck looked out of place in front of the huge white building. Two uniformed men alighted from the vehicle and made their way to the heavy front door. Before either man could raise his hand to knock the door was opened by a suited man who was unmistakably a butler.

“We’re here for the slave.” Gruff and to the point, these men saw no reason for artifice.

“Right this way.” He led them through the house and to the back where the stable block had been made to look as it had when the slaves first arrived. The family had decided that they should not be present when this happened, so had said their goodbyes already. As he led them through the door he took in the sight of them scanning the place and was glad that the family had made it look as austere as possible.

Taking them to the backmost corner, where a closet had been made to look like a cell, he turned to his followers, “She’s in here. I’ll leave you gentlemen to it; you can take her out around the side of the property.” Turning on his heels, he was gone.

“You ready for this one? She’s strong.” The darker of the two men turned to address his partner.

“We have tazers and the restraints; I see no reason to stress out.” Unhooking the weapon from his belt and passing the collar and cuffs over he grasped the door handle, “Let’s get this over with. We do have other pick ups to do today.”

Brutally jerking the door open, they were ready to be rushed by the person inside; instead they were pleased to see that she was already tied up. With her wrists and ankles bound, and tied to each other behind her back, she was helpless and unable to move. Warily the man with the cuffs moved forward and snapped the collar around the little blonde’s neck. Flipping the switch on he was pleased to hear the familiar hum that told him that the device was working. Securing the cuffs over the ropes he preceded to untie her bonds.

“We know you know how this works, but just in case you forgot,” she was roughly brought to her feet. “Any funny business and the collar will shock you until you stop or fall unconscious. We decide what constitutes funny business. All you have to do is walk to the transport and sit. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” She sounded docile, subdued.

“They drugged her, good, another job we don’t have to do.” Gesturing with the tazer the taller of the two men motioned for her to walk. “Get moving.”

They followed the warrior around the house and back to their van. The dark man moved around the side and opened a door before pulling the small woman in behind him. Inside the body of the van was split into tiny compartments, only big enough for the slave to sit or stand it. It prevented unnecessary damage to them and the van. Shoving her inside a cell, he locked the door and made his way back outside. Joining his companion in the cab, they pulled away from the Prince property on their way to another collection.

##########

Cliff Walsh sat at his desk, in the dark. He was alone in the building, except for a handful of cleaning staff. For hours he had sat, just running the news over and over again. He had been so sure that his little ploy would work, that attention on such a prominent family would boost Bradley’s numbers and take all eyes off of him. It had all collapsed like a house of cards. He needed to do something, fast. Trouble was, he was out of ideas.

The pencil that he had been twirling in his fingers suddenly snapped under the pressure of his hand. He slammed down the pieces. Looking at the wreckage on the desk an idea suddenly formed. A cruel smile spread across his face as he raised the phone and dialled…


	12. Chapter 12

DAY 1

Loping dazedly out of the dark confines of the van, she felt the familiar crunch of gravel under foot. Maintaining the illusion that she had been drugged, she kept her head bowed limply. Her arms seemed to hang lifelessly at her sides and her jaw was slack. She dribbled a little. Standing motionless, she waited for what would come next.

“Hey!” The voice was impatient and surprising close to her right ear. “Keep moving!” A foot planted itself on her butt and pushed forward, sending her sprawling into the jagged little stones, face first.

“Get up!” It was the other man this time. He reached down roughly and dragged her to her feet. With a man on either side, she was marched towards the building that loomed ahead.

****

Intelligent grey eyes peered at her appraisingly; looking for any possible weakness. Trying not to fidget under his scrutiny, a clear sign of how unsettled she was, she shot a glare back at him. These people didn’t own her; why should she be cowed by them? Forcing her body to relax, she cast a bored glance at her interrogator, simply waiting.

“So, are any of the rumours true?” She had wondered how long it would take for him to get to this. Heaven forbid that the chat show host actually concentrate on her newly released material for more than two minutes!

“What rumours would those be, Tim?” Her smile was saccharine sweet and her voice oozed sensuality, luring him into her carefully constructed web of lies.

“Francesca, now don’t be coy, everybody is talking about you and your adorable little bodyguard.” On cue he looked over her shoulder and into the wings, searching for the woman in question.

“If you like her, Tim, you could have her, for a price. How much are they paying you TV stars these days?” Her words were delivered with a conspiratorial wink and a smile. “My bodyguard is currently being reprogrammed. There was an incident at home and she harmed guests. Needless to say, she needed to be disciplined.”

“You mean to say,” she could see the wheels turning, “That she is not free and you lover?”

“Oh, Tim!” Laughing a little too hard, she even managed to let a tear slip down her cheek, though that was for real, “honestly, you can’t believe everything you read in the tabloids! Of course not. I will admit that my family and I have allowed our slaves a little more freedom than was perhaps wise, but we certainly haven’t freed them!” She felt like Judas, renouncing her love this way.

“OK,” with the wind out of his sails, the host turned to camera. “Coming up, more chat with the very talented Francesca Prince and I think we may even convince her to sing her new song!” Clapping filled the air as the show cut to commercial. 

****

Now out of her apparent stupor, there was only so long she could keep that up, she was once again in the heart of slavery. Still standing in the waiting area after three hours, shackled to the wall, surrounded by other like her, she contemplated her plan. She would have to appear defiant, aggressive and mean in order for this to work. It shouldn’t be difficult, that was exactly who she had been, before. Trouble was that seemed way too far away.

Gazing at the people around her, some tearing at their chains, others screaming, she found it hard to believe that this had once seemed normal. To blend in she periodically spat at a passing warden or pulled at the restrains around her wrists, chaffing them and causing blood to trickle over her wrists. 

Soon the male slave next to her was dragged, fighting all the way, to the counter where he would be processed and sent on to programming. Hunter had only been here a few times before; it wasn’t something you got used to, that was the point. She had certainly lied to Francesca when she said it would be nothing. It would be little more than torture, with the slave so worn down in the end that they would toe the line just in the hopes of going back to some semblance of normality.

“Your turn,” the warden closest to her unsnapped her chain from the wall and dragged her to the desk. His voice had been emotionless, almost echoing in its emptiness. These men and women viewed the people under their supervision as no more than animals, to neither like nor dislike, simply to shuttle from place to place. 

The desk clerk looked up at her with bored eyes as they approached, the boredom quickly changing into something like excitement. Ushering the young man and his cargo through to a side room, he followed them to processing, his station being quickly filled by another empty faced drone.

Once they were in the booking room, he turned to face her. The warden had taken a station outside the door, ready to burst in at the first sound of trouble, happy for the brief opportunity of some peace. The clerk smirked at her as he pulled on a pair of latex gloves; involuntarily she shivered, knowing what they meant.

“Never thought I’d see you here again,” his voice was nasal and matter of fact. He was a man who revelled in his position of power. A man like him could never lead the free but he was more than well equipped to command the ensnared. “Thought you were free; all la-dee-da with that heiress bint. What happen, she get tired of you?” He laughed at his own joke, goading her. She stayed calm and simply appraised him.

Understanding that she was no less strong willed than she had ever been, he snorted and indicated for her to hold out her arms. Tapping a code into the cuffs they released, falling to the table top. Waving a hand at her, knowing she knew the drill, he relaxed against the wall to watch the show. This was one of the perks of the job.

Mentally rolling her eyes, Hunter reached up and pulled the shirt she wore over her head and let it fall to the floor. It was soon followed by her pants and underwear until she was left standing naked under his scrutiny. Skin crawling under his lascivious gaze, she waited for the indignity that was to come.

“I see she hasn’t completely let you go to the dogs.” As he walked closer she could smell stale smoke on his breath, his words were conversational. “You wouldn’t believe how many privately owned slaves we get in here, all flabby and spoilt. I really do think the papers have it wrong, she obviously keeps you on a tight leash, just as it should be!” Now he was touching her, feeling over her body for concealed weapons; her mind went blank. 

****

Television show after television show blurred together as one, the day a never ending circus of media attention. Each show different but the questions the same. Far from feeling that she may win a Grammy, she thought she should be awarded an Oscar for this performance!

Constantly, in the back of her mind was the fear for Hunter’s life and what may be happening to her at any given moment. She had wanted to believe that it would be routine, but part of her screamed that it was another moment of self sacrifice form her smaller partner.

Falling into bed that night, she felt lonely. Exhaustion made her limbs heavy; her eyelids refused to fall. For hours she lay staring up at the ceiling until tiny steps sounded at the door. Propping her head up on her hand she saw her three children attempting stealth. They had yet to realise she was awake. Letting them get a little closer she cleared her throat.

“Ahem!” Three pairs of startled eyes met hers and then the bed was attacked by three bodies. The children settled themselves around her under the sheets. Happy to have their company she kissed each tousled head and the family finally dozed off.

DAY 2

Standing on the burning sand, wearing nothing but a sports bra and panties, a rush of memories flew through her. She could still remember the first day when, as little more than a child, she had stood in the centre of an arena much like this. Her young heart had suddenly thundered in her chest and she had felt truly alive. Truth be told, she still got a thrill from the idea of battling before a crowd, it was too much a part of her not to. Today there would be no fighting; that would not serve their purpose.

Today she was to be worn down. That was the first step in the re-education of a slave. To remake them, you first have to break them. So there stood the greatest warrior of her generation, on the white hot sand in the centre of the arena. Bare foot and alone, save for one warden and his rifle, she would remain standing until told otherwise. It could be hours but more than likely it would be days, without food, without water or distraction.

Sweat was already beading on her upper lip and hairline; the sun was barely up.

****

Morning had been another blur of media activity. If asked she couldn’t have named any of the dozen shows she’d made appearances on that day. Fortunately her dance card was blissfully empty this afternoon. The children would be home in minutes and they would get her full attention (granted it would be far from undivided, a part of Francesca was always with Rhani).

“Mommy!” Three screaming children came careening towards her in the garden. As usual Terry and Shelle were enthusiastic to the point of becoming annoying while Becky kept herself back a little.

“How was school today, my darlings?” That was Terry’s cue to jump right in. Each day the boy looked more like his father and his mother was sure he would grow up to be a real ladies man.

“I won the spelling contest Mom!” His chest puffed out with pride. Francesca tousled his hair affectionately, noting as she did that he needed a haircut.

“Well done! I told you you’d do well!” Noticing his eyes roaming towards the house she kissed him on the cheek, “go and tell your Grandpa, he’ll be so proud of you. Maybe Nana will let you bring us some lemonade.” With a whoop of excitement he charged towards the kitchen with the enthusiasm that only a boy can possess.

“Now, girls, what about you?” The twins came to perch on their mother’s lap, one on each knee, gazing up at her.

“I drew a picture of a rabbit and Miss Perkins said it was the best picture she’d ever seen!” Shelle was bouncing with excitement. “Then I wrote a story about it!” Francesca kissed her daughter’s forehead and placed a finger over her lips to stop her taking over before her sister had a chance to speak.

“What about you Becky?” The singer sometimes worried that her quiet daughter understood too much of the world already, she always seemed quite sober and watchful and now was no exception.

“I drew a picture too, Mommy. Mine was a horse and I wrote about going to the ranch…will you take us there soon Mommy? I wanna be able to ride like you can.” Two pairs of big eyes looked up at her, and she couldn’t help feeling just a little ambushed by her children.

“When I’ve finished with all this promotion I’ll take you all to the ranch.” Just then the clinking of glasses on a tray was heard as the nine year old got closer.

“Really Mom? Cool! I’m gonna be a cow boy!” He beamed as he carefully set the tray down.

Chattering excitedly the children continued making plans, Francesca making occasional comments but happy just to let the kids talk. Eventually Terry and Shelle were running around the lawn on imaginary ponies, hollering at each other and making passable horse impressions. Becky, meanwhile, had climbed back on her mother’s lap and was toying with her long fingers absently. The older brunette dropped a kiss on the child’s head.

“Where are you going tomorrow, Mommy?”

“I have to go to lots of different places; Canada, Europe, Japan,” she would be gone for more than a week and loathed the idea of being away from the children for that long. She also hated the idea of leaving Hunter in such a precarious position. It was the part she disliked about the fame game.

“Is Hunter going with you? Is that why she went away yesterday, to get ready?” The small girl missed her playmate.

“No, sweetheart, Hunter is…busy.”

****

Searing heat gave way to biting cold as the sun turned the sky to flame. All day she had stood under its cruel eye and now the moon would take its turn. Looking up with eyes made hazy from heat and hunger, it almost looked as if the crescent grin of the moon was smirking down at her.

Hunter could feel her skin prickle as it was given respite from the sun. She was badly burnt and tomorrow would bring more of the same. Gooseflesh covered her as her stomach growled. Though her body had remained hard, she was soft! Her life with Francesca had seen to that. In the time before she could have done this for days, now she already wanted to give up. That wasn’t an option. They told you when to stop. If you falter; if you fall; you start again.

Eight hours until sun up. At least she didn’t need to sleep.

DAY 4

So hot!

Thirsty!

My skin’s on fire!

“Chess!”

“Chess? What are you doing here?”

All around her the sand was empty.

****

“More champagne, Miss Prince?” the air stewardess leaned over the seated heiress, bottle poised over her glass.

Startled out of her contemplation Francesca raised her eyes to the beaming hostess. Demurring politely she watched as the young woman made her way to the next first class passenger, performing the same routine all over again. Turning her attention back to the documents in her lap, Francesca continued to prepare herself for her stop over in Europe.

Her very brief stop over in Canada had been a blur of press and photographers. She hadn’t even left the airport. Sequestered in a conference suit, she had seen interviewer after interviewer over a relatively short period. Chuckling lowly to herself, she realised that she had probably provided a sound bite for just about every major TV show in the country. Her time in Europe was to be no less intense, hopping from Paris to London to Berlin, with major news agencies from other countries flown in to meet with her. At least she would have the opportunity to sleep in a real bed.

Snuggling further into her plush seat, she went back to her study of her itinerary. Tomorrow was another day.

DAY 5

Whack!

Wood connected with the back of her knees, sending her crashing onto the burning sand. Each tiny grain seemed to rub at her reddened skin, making her want to scream. Biting back the scream that wanted so desperately to exit her body; not yet broken enough to give her tormentors the satisfaction of the sound, she went limp, simply waiting.

The same hooked wooden pole which had sent her to the ground was looped over her foot. Then she was being dragged across the red hot sand, the golden grains slicing through her skin like glass. Despite the pain, the relief of finally being off her feet was overwhelming. Conflicting sensations ran through her delirious mind; darkness to envelope her.

****

Rubbing tiredly at her eyes, the brunette stumbled over the carpet of the plush hotel room. Shuffling feet found their way to the bathroom; a hand groped blindly and found the light. Almost working on autopilot the star stood over the sink. Looking up at the mirror the face that stared back was caked in makeup and not her own.

Running a hand under the sink censor she filled her hands with water before splashing it over her face. As the sink filled, clothes were shed with almost drunken fumbling. Finally scrubbing away the day’s makeup, and the day itself, she could finally see herself in the mirror. She looked into tired blue eyes and wondered, not for the first time, why she did this for a living. I would have been so much easier to join the family business. A low chuckle escaped her.

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t have as much fun… This is nothing.” Smirking at her reflection she couldn’t help but add, “And now I’m talking to myself, I’m either too tired or too crazy to care!”

Towelling off her face she left the bathroom, once again plunged into darkness and climbed into her huge bed. The bedside light illuminated the pillows and the assortment of paraphernalia that covered the small table it perched upon. Sliding naked under the sheets, she turned to take in the picture that sat beside her each nigh that she was away from her family.

Terry, Shelle and Becky looked out at her, the three children clustered around a fourth figure who dwarfed them with her bulk. The quartet had been messing about in the pool when she had decided she just had to take a picture and so she had posed them. In their rainbow of different swimming costume colours, with beaming smiles, the picture always helped to lift her spirits. Sending up a silent prayer for her children as she did each night, she turned the light out and settled into sleep.

“Goodnight my love, I’ll be home soon.” Hunter was the last thought on her mind.

DAY 6

It was almost meditative, hanging there from the ceiling. Her ankles were shackled and she found herself gently revolving. Perhaps it was all the blood pooling in her head; perhaps it was the gnawing exhaustion; perhaps it was the hunger, whatever it was left her feeling light and peaceful. All sense of time had fallen away from her now that she was out of the suns cruel glare and she knew that she was reaching her lowest ebb.

Mind wandering, drifting from time to time, place to place, she was still aware enough to know that soon the suggestions would start. She was broken, little more than an empty vessel waiting to be filled with instructions. Bereft of personal contact, of the sound of voices, for so long her mind would latch onto anything it heard and want to believe it for truth.

Having survived this experience more than once, and with far less to lose, the part of her mind that was still capable of logical thought, was not worried about any long term danger. It was more worried about the next step. About what they might make her do to prove that she was once again under their control. That part of her kept a single thought, a single image to latch onto. Francesca. Home.

****

“Hey babies, can you all hear me?” Taking a rare opportunity to call the children, Francesca sat in a secluded spot in the restaurant. She literally had no more than ten minutes to eat and talk to her family before she would be back to the grind of PR. 

“Yes Mommy, we have the speaker phone on.” As always Terry took the lead, his sisters’ voices shouting hellos in the background. “Where are you today?”

“Well, yesterday I was in London and now I am in Paris.”

“Is it pretty Mommy?” Becky this time.

“Yes, darling it’s very pretty here, I think you will all have to come and visit properly with me!”

“Ew, I don’t wanna go somewhere pretty!” She laughed at the audible disgust in her son’s voice.

“There are loads of non-pretty things too Terry, I promise!” Realising that her more exuberant child had been noticeable by her absence, Francesca redirected her attention, “how about you Shelle? Do you want to come and visit not-too-pretty Paris?”

“Of course I do Mommy; I want to be where you are!” The voice was tiny and uncertain. “You’re not here and Hunter’s not here and Grandpa and Nana just aren’t the same!” She could hear the tears in her child’s voice and a decision was made then and there.

“Babies, I’ll be home tomorrow and I think its time that Hunter came home too!” The happy whoops from her children told her all she needed to know. No matter how much bad publicity it might cause, no matter the arguments it would cause with Raz, she had to go home. “I have to say bye now so I can book a flight and talk to Raz, you be good and go and tell your grandparents. I love you all very much!” A chorus of ‘we love you too’ followed before the line went dead.

Hitting speed dial she braced herself for the confrontation she was about to have.

DAY 8

It tasted so good! The thin broth flowed over her tongue and filled her mouth with flavour. In truth it was the worst meal she’d had in months but today, today it was a feast fit for a king! After so long with nothing in her belly the opaque liquid was all she could handle. This was her reward for obedience, for not struggling and paying attention.

She was a good little girl; she would do as she was told. She had to, she wanted to go home!

****

Coming home had been the best decision she could have made for her children, they had greeted her with a nearly desperate joy. Shelle had barely left her side in the hours since she had arrived at the house. It had taken a little longer to get home than she had hoped, having to placate her management and the various news agencies. She had finally had to promise an interview and tour of her home, an invasion of privacy she wasn’t comfortable with but which would go to every network and seemed to more than satisfy her detractors. Raz was fuming but he had been unable to change his stars mind.

Once again safely ensconced in the heart of her home she had tried to get Hunter back. It was proving to be an impossible task. Francesca couldn’t even get past the switchboard of the facility. She could have pushed, could have demanded to be put through, talked about lawyers and made a scene but that would have flown in the face of everything Hunter was doing. The warrior was trying her best to shield her lover and her family from harm and Francesca couldn’t destroy that. So, instead she had had to listen to a woman tell her the procedure was going well and that she would be delivered home in two more days.

Sitting on the sofa, Terry laying on the floor at her feet, busily doing his homework, a little girl snuggled up to each side, the singer felt content and in two days she would feel perfect. Raising the remote clutched in her right hand she witched over to the news, watching the world scroll by in three minute segments. Hoping that she had missed any mention of herself, she relaxed further into the cushioned embrace.

‘The polls close in less than two hours and signs are looking good for Bradley Dettore. Voters have been out en mass, one of the best elections for some time. We now go to our correspondent…’

Francesca almost hit herself in the forehead. How could she have forgotten that the election was today? Her vote had been cast online days ago but she should still have remembered! If Dettore got in it would change everything! She wasn’t sure why but a cold finger ran up her spine as the grinning face of the would-be senator filled the screen.

DAY 9

Something was wrong. Like the savannah just before a storm, the animals were restless. Hunter couldn’t help the analogy, for too long she had been considered, and had considered herself, to be an animal. Under the circumstances it was hard not to go back to thinking that. This morning she had felt fed, rested and overall in fairly good condition. The words of the conditioners still reverberated in her brain but she was doing her best to push it aside. She had been released amongst the general population today, those at the end of their ‘treatment’, like herself, those who were considered low risk and newbies.

Looking around at the tense bodies and glowering eyes, she could feel the danger in the air. The tension was something you could almost taste and it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. This was not the norm. All of them should be broken, automatons awaiting their hand over. These people were scared, troubled and clearly in command of facts that she was not.

Sidling up to a male she recognised from her first day, she cleared her throat, drawing his attention away from his obsessive gaze at the warden’s office. Dead eyes turned her way, he was broken and yet a tension still existed around his jaw, his fingers still flexed in an angry rhythm. Confused and becoming increasingly agitated herself she voiced her worries.

“What’s going on?” Those empty orbs looked at her blankly, blinking once or twice but no answer was forthcoming. “OK, let’s try again, why are you so worried?” At this she got a response.

“You don’t know? We’re all screwed! Remember those owners you had, that brought you here? Kiss them goodbye!” His words were bitter and finally there was a light in his eyes, a fire burning with pure rage. “No more private slavery! We’re state owned again. Dettore got in and our releases have been suspended until he makes a statement.”

“How do you know all this?” Fear held her heart in a vice that with each turn tightened and turned to a cold ball of anger.

“You need to listen to the warden’s.” He turned his back on her and went back to his silent vigil. 

I can’t go back to this! The thought screamed through her brain as the realisation of what this meant to her and her family hit and she sank to the floor.

****

“Mama, what are we going to do?” Francesca was worried. With Dettore’s election the night before things were no longer clear for her. The biggest question hanging over her life now was what would this mean for Rhani?

“We can’t be sure we need to do anything sweetheart. Hunter’s ruse seems to have worked and she’ll be delivered home tomorrow. Until then I suggest that you calm down.” Darla wished that she felt as confident as she sounded. Dettore’s acceptance speech had been less than comforting.

“I guess you’re right Mama, after all he can’t change anything over night.” Embracing the older woman she took comfort in her arms.


	13. Chapter 13

Bradley could barely believe that all those days of toil and planning had finally come to this. He was a senator! He finally had the power that he had always longed for! Glancing over at Cliff, who stood, as always, in the wings, he shot him a victorious wink; Cliff’s reply was a rather smug grin. Focusing his attention back on the camera which stood before him, he heard the producer counting down to the start of the press conference.

The speech began in rallying fashion and Cliff patted himself on the back once more. Everything that came out of his friends mouth had been penned and orchestrated by him, Bradley thought the policies were his own and in truth, some of the ideas had been born from their conversations but Cliff was pulling all the strings. He focused back in on the big man’s voice just in time to hear his favourite part.

“Slavery and the problems created by freed slaves have been at the heart of my campaign. Violence, riots and general public unrest have led me to believe that now is the time to change the rules. To crack down on freedom. To do what needs to be done to protect our liberty.” His eyes held such conviction, his jaw firm, he was a hero that the people could get on board with and Cliff had to stop himself rubbing his hands together in glee.

“In the ensuing weeks and months we will be taking in all slaves who are in the public domain. Private owners will be expected to hand over their property for tagging and in some cases these slaves will be removed. Anybody who has been suspected of freeing slaves will have all ownership rights revoked. All freed slaves will be expected to report to local authorities for repatriation. There is no such thing as a free slave!” His fist hit the lectern and the people in the small audience cheered. As confident as he appeared, Bradley felt something nagging at the back of his mind as he moved on in his speech. Trying to ignore the doubt he could feel, he pushed on.

****

Yesterday had been filled with fear and an overwhelming feeling of loss. The large group of slaves had been a mix of subdued acceptance and barely concealed rage. Hunter had tried to keep her spirits buoyed, too little avail. She was too used to disappointment and pain not to believe that this could be true. She had done as the big male suggested and listened to the wardens as they went about their business. They genuinely seemed to believe that with the induction of Dettore that no slaves would be released. What she couldn’t understand was how Dettore was going to get legislation through that quickly.

Today she woke to find herself staring into the cold eyes of the man who had dragged her to book in ten days before. Hope had bloomed in her chest as he gruffly ordered her to dress and shackled her wrists behind her back. Knowing that any questions she had would be ignored she had remained silent, simply following him outside.

Now she stood in front of the cattle wagon, surrounded by a large group of slaves, all at the end of their treatment. She looked over and locked eyes with the man who had spoken to her the day before. Raising a speculative eyebrow in his direction, she was rewarded with an abashed shrug of his shoulders as he cast his eyes to the floor. Clearly all that worry had been for nothing! She should have known better than to believe anything she heard in this place. That was the point of being here, to break down your defences and make you malleable and suggestible.

Feeling a forceful hand at her back she approached the small, dark opening in the truck. Climbing up into the truck and guided to one of the tiny cells, she went easily, perching onto the hard metal bench. The warden backed out and closed the door, sealing her into the clanging darkness. To her left and right she could hear muffled voices and the clang of doors closing. The relief in the air was palpable and made clear by the lack of resistance being shown by the assembled slaves. 

As the truck began to roll, throwing her back further on the slick seat, she thought of home. Seeing the children again would be wonderful, she wondered how much they might have changed in ten days. A silly thought but it did seem as though the children were always changing, evolving slowly into the adults that they would become. Then her mind could not help but turn to the bright star at the centre of her universe. Francesca. Soon she would hold the other woman in her arms and she could hardly wait.

****

Salvatore sat in his study, pen tapping agitatedly on the polished cherry of the desk. His eyes read and re-read the document that sat in front of him with a growing sense of dread. Quite how the new senator had managed to get this pushed through and out into the public domain in just two days was beyond him, but he had.

The startlingly white sheet of paper proclaimed in bold, black letters, one simple thing. Their right to own slaves was revoked until such time as their alleged freeing of slaves was proved or discounted. Looking out of the window he could see his daughter and grandchildren preparing a barbecue. It was supposed to be a celebration dinner to welcome Hunter home. He was going to have to go out and shatter his daughter’s heart, again.

Wrestling himself out of his chair he moved closer to the glass, pressing his palm to the pane beside his daughter. “I’m so sorry, princess.” The words were whispered as he pulled his hand away and dejectedly made his way to the garden.

****

The van slowed to a stop after hours of travel. The occupants had all began to grow concerned as they had driven on and on, nobody had disembarked. Hunters mind was reeling; she knew that her home with the Prince’s was not this far away. A cold ball of fear settled back into her stomach, growing bigger and bigger with each passing mile.

She wasn’t going home.

Nobody was going home.

“I’m sorry, Chess.” The words were whispered in defeat as her head fell back onto the icy cool metal.

****

Silent tears coursed down a high cheek boned face as blue eyes stared desolately into the night. Lost. Alone. Terrified.


End file.
